The Customer Is (Not) Always Right
by PinaColadaFox
Summary: Follow the chronicles of Rupin the Gear Peddler as he scams unaware customers, tolerates irritating co-workers, and attempts to conquer his first world problems. Takes place during Skyward Sword!
1. The Bizarre Bazaar

**A/N:** Rated a mild T for allusions to alcohol and other...various things. There is no coarse language, just explicit amounts of sarcasm. Brace yourself. :)

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**Chapter 1: The Bizarre Bazaar**

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There he is. The village idiot. I would never call him that to his face, of course, or people would know what a horrible person I really am. He sits on a stool at the Bazaar's bar, his love handles spilling out from underneath his ill-fitting shirt, a ratty ponytail trailing down the back of his thick neck. I could go on and on. I know nothing about him, other than he's here when I arrive in the morning and he's still here when I leave at night, wasting away at the bar. I don't blame him; I'd probably be drowning my sorrows in pumpkin juice too if I had ended up with such an unfortunate appearance.

I catch my reflection in a decorative plate hanging on the wall and straighten the green cap atop my blonde head, squinting my eyes tight to hide how terribly bloodshot they are. A wide smile stretches across my face and I turn to greet the village idiot.

"Good Morning, sir!" I trill happily, trying not to let my gaze wander to the greasy clump of chest hair sticking out of his shirt.

He lifts his head and gives me a blank stare, his eyes unfocused and dim. "Morning," he grunts, returning to his plate of burnt scrambled eggs.

Still smiling, I tip my hat to him and continue down the bazaar to prepare my shop for the day. If I can look this guy in the face without regurgitating my breakfast, I am ready to face anybody.

On the way to my shop I stroll past Gondo, tinkering with some invention of his in the scrap shop as usual, and the bored girl who runs the item check. Her dead, lifeless eyes stare straight through me as I pass through her line of sight. Coming up on my left is Sparrot the fortuneteller. I avoid eye contact. I round the corner and…no. _No._

They're back. That loathsome couple that owns the potion shop across from me is back. They took leave for a few weeks because they had a baby a short time ago, and what a glorious few weeks those were. But now Goddess forbid, here they are again, setting up their gigantic potion vats in a row along the far wall. The wife has to be the most unattractive woman I have ever had the misfortune to lay my eyes upon. No, really. I can see her mustache from all the way across the room. Her name is Luv, but I just call her Manhands. In my mind, anyway. Jammed back in the corner is her mousy little husband, Bertie. He's not such a bad guy in of himself, but I've seen what he mixes into those concoctions of his, and it is _not_ sanitary.

A small sigh escapes my mouth. I suppose I should say hello. It's not as if I can just ignore them without being perceived as rude. "Welcome back, friends!" I smile and wave to them merrily as I walk the rest of the way to my shop. "How nice it is see you again." _Not really._

The hefty Manhands drops whatever it is she's doing and turns to face me. "'Ey, Rupee!" she shouts, putting her hands on her hips. "Ya gotta see the bay-bay!"

My lip twitches involuntarily. 'Rupee'? Since when were we on such friendly terms? "Oh, I'm sure I will sometime!" I say, because I totally want to throw away an afternoon at their house just to see the 'bay-bay'.

A gruff laugh erupts from her mouth. "No, silly boy! I meant right now!"

She points at her husband. Glowing with pride, Bertie turns around, and then I see it. In a sling on Bertie's back is the ugliest baby I have ever seen in my life. It has a funky-shaped head, a turned-up pig nose, and I swear its eyelids are pointing in two different directions. Clutched in its grip is a large blue rattle that it's currently slobbering all over.

"Ahaa!" I exclaim, clasping my hands together. "What an adorable baby! What's its name?"

Bertie opens his mouth to speak, but Manhands cuts him off before he can utter a single word, "Oh, we haven't named her yet! But she's a girl!"

So I guessed right. Honestly I couldn't tell for the life of me. "I thought so! My sincerest congratulations," I reply, smiling. Suddenly, the ridiculousness of this arrangement settles over my mind. Really? Who brings their infant child to work? Who _does_ that? Last I checked, it wasn't bring-your-child-to-work day.

"Daww, look at her!" Manhands coos, "She just loves that wittle rattle of hers! Isn't she just the cutest—"

"Mm hmm," I say, nodding my head. I sneak a peek at the clock on the wall. 7:55; it is nearly opening time and I still haven't made necessary preparations. Gradually, I begin inching back toward my storeroom, still facing the gibbering Manhands. As I drift further away, she projects her voice to make up for the distance. The village idiot can probably hear her all the way from the bar.

When I finally reach the storeroom door, I unlock it and dart inside. I keep up a stream of generic commentary as I gather up my display gear and neatly arrange it across the counter, sprinkling the gaps in Manhands's meaningless drivel with gems such as, "Mm hmm," "Ah," and "I see." I smile and nod, smile and nod, feigning interest in what she has to say, but it's difficult to keep my eyes on her as I'm setting up. She seems to get annoyed every time I look down. When I'm done with preparations, I prop my elbows up on the counter lean forward to catch a snatch of the conversation I have not been participating in.

"—It's really interesting!"

_It really doesn't sound it at all_, I want to say. "Oh, I believe it!"

She opens her wide mouth to blather on, but the sound of approaching footsteps cuts her short. We both turn to see people entering the bazaar.

"Aye!" Manhands bellows, clapping her giant man hands together. "Potions! Potions! Get your potions here! Returning sale today only!"

A few people drift toward my shop tentatively, but then they take one look at her and hurriedly shuffle past. I have to stifle a groan. Here she goes again. She's always clapping those big knobby hands of hers like some kind of ape woman, trying to badger passerby into buying her potions, but all she's doing is frightening away potential customers. _My_ potential customers. She just doesn't get it! Attracting customers is a very delicate operation. You can't harass them before they've even had a chance to scope out what you have to offer! You have to hang back at first. Let your wares pique their curiosity and bring them in. Once you have them, _then_ you harass them. I want to explain this to her, for my sake rather than hers of course, but I can't seem to figure out a way to put it lightly. Manhands is the type one must walk on eggshells around.

When all potential customers have emptied out of the immediate area, she waves at me to get my attention. I look up and she starts to yammer about her baby again, but her words go in one ear and out the other. As I smile and nod, all I see are her fat lips smacking together in succession, spraying bits of saliva out into the walkway. Suddenly, a flash of yellow catches my eye. I turn to my left to see a young man dressed in a yellow knight's uniform making a beeline for my shop. A customer! The perfect excuse to abandon this one-sided conversation.

"Hello, my friend! Looking for something in particular?" I pipe up, for it is clear this young man is walking with a purpose.

"Hello!" the knight greets me, taking long strides up counter. "And yes, there is something…" He reaches over his shoulder and unhinges a wooden shield from his back, one of my craftsmanship. A deep crack runs down the shield's center, nearly cleaving it in half, and the wood is charred in places. Sometimes I wonder what people are doing with my shields. For some reason, my eyes wander over to Manhands. She's still talking...to _me_. Why is she still talking to me? I catch her eye and give her a gentle nod, but she can't take a hint; she just keeps running her mouth. I turn my attention back to the customer.

"Ah, yes. I'm afraid this one has outlived its usefulness," I say, shaking my head at his shield sadly. "Wooden shields will break easily if they take too much abuse, not to mention the flammability. It's an unfortunate property of wood," I shrug. Why won't this woman shut her trap? Can't she see I'm busy trying to help a customer? Is she blind?! _Shut up_, I scream at her internally, wishing there were some way to drill my thoughts into her mind. _Shut up!_ "I take it you are looking to purchase a replacement?"

"No—well…yes," my customer stammers. "I was actually hoping to find something a little more durable."

My phony smile grows a little wider at this. "Ah, then might I suggest purchasing an iron shield? It's a tad more expensive than the wooden one, but I assure you, the extra durability is well worth the cost!" I hunch my shoulders and bow my head ever so slightly. "Unfortunately, we don't have them in stock just yet, but I can put in a special order just for you and have it ready for pickup in less than 24 hours! For a small fee, that is."

The customer runs a hand over his floppy yellow cap, considering my offer. His eyes flick to the space on the counter where I usually display my metal shields, no doubt looking for my price label that doesn't exist. Any salesman who actually wants to make money knows never to reveal his prices right off the bat. Meanwhile, Manhands is still talking at me from the other side of the room. I ignore her and focus my undivided attention on the customer in front of me. I know what's coming next, and I cannot risk losing him. Not when I have made it this far.

"What's the price of the iron shield?" he inquires, right on cue.

"Aha, yes! The price," I stutter modestly, as if it hadn't occurred to me until just now. "With the additional fee, it's yours for just 110 rupees! Shall I take your name down, friend?"

The corners of his mouth dip into a frown. Not a good sign. Just then, I notice an unusual silence stretching between here and the potion shop. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Manhands casting dirty looks in my direction. What is the matter with this woman?

"It's a little expensive for me to afford right now," my customer says quietly, scratching at his spiky brown hair, "but I need to get a new shield as soon as possible. Can we haggle?"

I scan his features carefully, but I can detect no deceit behind them. I don't think he is trying to cheat me. "Why yes of course, my friend. I am always willing to compromise," I tell him, dashing into the back room. Sometimes when selling a big item like a shield, it's better to knock the price down just a little bit than to forfeit the sale completely. Of course, the customers only _think _they're getting a deal. I overprice all my wares to begin with so I still get my fair share. I grab my clipboard and order form and return to the front of the store, quill poised at the ready. "What name shall I put you down as, sir?"

"Pipit," he replies.

"Alright, _Pipit_, I'll tell you what," I say, jotting down his name, "I'm willing to drop the pre-order fee and knock few rupees off the flat price, bringing your total down to 95—"

"You know, Gondo repairs shields!"

My mouth drops open. Simultaneously, Pipit and I both whip our heads in Manhands's direction.

"He does?" Pipit asks, lifting his pointy eyebrows.

"Yup!" Manhands beams. She leans forward, placing her hands on her hips. "Bring that hunk of wood right on over to the scrap shop and he'll fix you up for cheap!"

I gape at her in disbelief. Who does this woman think she is, sticking her oversized nose where it doesn't belong? Can't she mind her own business?! What was even in it for her? _Nothing!_ That didn't benefit her in any way whatsoever!

Suddenly my customer turns to look at me, and in that moment I realize my smile has fallen off my face and been replaced with a scowl. I immediately revert to my cheery demeanor.

"Um…I'm just going to check the prices at the scrap shop," he says awkwardly, "I might come back."

Yeah, right. It's loads cheaper to get a shield repaired at Gondo's than it is to purchase a replacement from me. "That's quite alright my friend!" I assure him, smiling and waving him away dismissively. "Quite all-right! No matter what you decide to do, I wish you the utmost amount of satisfaction."

Returning my smile, he thanks me for my time and strolls off toward the scrap shop. The gentle chink of rupees bouncing around in his wallet grows fainter and fainter with each of his steps, taunting me. In a flash of irritation, I shoot a poisonous look in Manhands's direction, but she's not looking. I heave a great sigh, letting the upper half of my body droop forward until my hands are almost touching the floor. I can tell it's going to be a very long day.

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**A/N: **It's the little things that make Legend of Zelda the masterpiece it is. And by little things, I mean minor characters! Seriously, you could pick any minor character from the series and write an entire freaking story about them, because y'know…characters from video games are totally more interesting than real people.

So, why Rupin? I guess out of all SS's minor characters, he just really stood out to me, and not just because he kind of looks like the Happy Mask Salesman. There's just something about this guy everybody can relate to, especially if you've had a taste of the wonderful world of customer service. As far as I know, no one has written any fanfics about him before, so this is the first. Hope you enjoy it. :)


	2. Petty Vengeance

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**Chapter 2: Petty Vengeance**

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"Y'know, I think that Gondo's onto something over there. I ought to whip up a brew that can help repair shields!"

I just stare at Mahands with an incredulous look on my face as she tells me about her new potion idea. I am astounded. I can't believe she still has the nerve to speak to me after what she did, as if she's completely unaware of the precious rupees she just cost me. Does she even care? No. Does anyone ever display the slightest sensitivity over the hardships of a fellow individual? No. The answer is a resounding _no_. How can someone be so tactless? Or maybe she's just plain stupid. Yes, that must be it.**  
**

When I can't stand to listen to her anymore, I take an early lunch break and head over to the bazaar's restaurant. I buy a cup of pumpkin soup and retreat into my backroom to get some paperwork done. About ten minutes into my break, I get the feeling someone is watching me. I peer over my shoulder to see a pair of customers awkwardly staring at me through the doorway. How irritating. Why can't people come to my shop when I'm actually working?! I even put out a sign that says, "On Break – Be Back in 30 Minutes". It's right next to the big "NO REFUNDS" sign no one ever seems to notice.

A low grumble makes its way out of my throat. Reluctantly, I get up from my desk and move out into the shop, leaving my half finished soup behind. A smile lights up my features and I greet the two customers, a thickset man with beady eyes and a woman with two long brown braids trailing down her back. Since these two clearly don't know how to read, I point to my sign and kindly inform them about my policy on refunds after they purchase their satchel of deku seeds. I always make a point to do this whenever someone buys something from me, but time and time again, people ask.

From then on, the rest of the day proceeds as usual. Manhands continues to talk my ear off. I sucker a few people into buying some bombs. Instructor Owlan from the Knight Academy buys a wooden shield to give away as a prize at the graduation ceremony coming up the day after tomorrow, but that's the biggest sale I make. Each hour seems to tick by at a slower rate than the last, my energy diminishing along with them. Eventually, it nears that time of day when people begin to empty out of the bazaar, and I become nothing but a mindless robot, repeating the same four words over and over and over again.

"Have a good night!" I chirp to a passing group of shoppers. I keep up the most pleasant smile I can muster despite my exhaustion, in the vain hopes that one of them will remember my friendly face and decide to shop here tomorrow. Some of them stare straight ahead without saying a word. Others look at me like I have horns growing out of my nose.

I turn to see the woman who bought the deku seeds from me earlier approaching. "Have a good night!" I yell to her. She spares me a glance and mutters a halfhearted "thanks."

"Have a good night!" I say to an older gentleman, who gives me the stink eye in return. I disregard his rudeness and prepare to farewell the next person.

"Good night!" I tell the departing item check girl. She ignores me.

"Have a good night!" I say to another passing customer.

He stops and looks at me. His eyes are lifeless with stupidity. After a long, awkward moment of staring at each other, he turns and continues on his way out. Really? He can't even open his mouth and offer a simple 'thank you'? Not even a nod?! I'm the one who's been standing here all day! Have these people any idea how much energy it takes to remain this bright and chipper so close to the end of my shift?

"I really don't care if you have a good night," I whisper after the man once he is out of earshot. I turn to see off the next group, a trio of Knight Academy students. I don't know them by name, but they're regulars around here. That ginger oaf with the ridiculous hairstyle, that smarmy little midget, and that revolting, mouth-breathing, used cue tip of a person.

"Have a good night!" I call to them cheerfully.

The trio completely ignores me as they pass by, sniggering over some joke that surely only a five-year-old would find amusing. "Good night!" I say again, but they are already gone…

I want it back. I want the time and energy I wasted telling these people to have a good night back.

I inhale, then exhale, rubbing my tired eyes. It's clear no one is going to buy anything else today, so I start putting my displays away. As I'm moving the last of my gear back into the storeroom, I notice scrawny little Bertie hobbling over to my shop, still toting his hideously misshapen offspring on his back. He's so severely bent at the waist it looks like his spine could snap at any moment.

"Rupin," he breathes when he reaches the counter, sounding as if he has just run a mile. "Can I borrow your broom?"

"Of course, my friend!" I say right away. I grab the broom leaning against the back wall and hand it to him.

"Thanks," he mutters weakly.

I give him a friendly nod. "My pleasure." Really. It's a wonder they're even bothering to clean up that pigpen they call a potion shop. Speaking of which...I turn a wary eye toward the potion shop, but it seems Manhands is nowhere to be found. "Where's Ma-" I catch myself, "Where did your wife go?"

"Oh, the missus..." Bertie sighs, scratching the back of his sandy head. "She went home already. She gets tired from running the business all day. I have to let her get some rest sometime, right? Ha ha..." he gives a little chuckle, an anemic smile on his lips. For just a moment, I see through a narrow window into this man's life. What does he put up with day by day?

Without warning, the baby lets out an ear-piercing wail, startling us both. "Shh! Don't cry, don't cry!" Bertie hushes the baby gently, taking its rattle out of his pocket. The little demon spawn snatches it from him and immediately begins to settle down. Bertie heaves another tired sigh and turns back to me, his features sagging. "Well, I better get back to cleaning. Thanks again, Rupin.**" **

And with that, he turns and limps back across the hallway. I am never getting married.**  
**

It's almost closing time, so I take my hard-earned money into my storeroom to count today's earnings. This is my favorite part of the day. This is when the fruits of my labor finally pay off. I empty my apron of rupees out on the table and separate them by color. Green, blue, red, violet, silver and gold: a satisfying rainbow of glittering gems. After subtracting my initial 100, I carefully count the number of rupees in each pile and multiply them by their color values to calculate the final profit.

"Drat!" I exclaim, pounding my fist against the table. Only 170 rupees! That's the worst profit in weeks! I guess I have that ape woman to thank for scaring away all my paying customers. Steaming with frustration, I lock my rupees away in my vault and slam the door. I walk back out to the shop to see Bertie has left and my broom is returned to me, propped up against the counter. But that's not the only thing that's there.

That rattle. That _rattle_ is on my counter. Smothered with drool and snot and crawling with an invisible colony of writhing germs. My face screws up in disgust. What is it _doing_ here? Does Bertie hate me or something? _Did he just not notice?!_

"Ugh!" I gag. Well, it's not like I'm just going to let it sit there all night. The whole place will have to be quarantined. Cringing, I hesitantly pick up the handle of the rattle between my thumb and forefinger. I sprint out back to the dumpster, holding the filthy thing as far away from my face as possible, and fling it into the nearest trashcan. As I'm catching my breath, a small smile—a real one—curls my lips. Serves them right. I start to walk back inside, and suddenly the pettiness of this entire situation dawns on me. Well, whatever. If Bertie's going to carelessly leave garbage on my desk, I'm going to put it where it belongs. _In the garbage._ That's all there is to it.

After wiping down my counter three times and washing my hands four times, I head back through the bazaar, making sure to nod to the village idiot on my way out. When I step outside, that usual sense of relief washes over me, that sense of knowing I can safely drop my cheery defenses. I look up at the sky. The sun has completely set, but the dark-blue clouds beyond the light tower are still tinged orange around the edges. I walk down the hill and cross over the bridge to get to my residence on the southeastern part of the island. I know I'm almost home when I see the graveyard up ahead. My backyard. A long time ago, it was the most popular hangout in Skyloft. Every kid, and I mean _every_ kid, wanted to play with me in my spacious backyard. Then one day I came home from school and discovered a bunch of people burying dead bodies in it. It turned out my mother sold our property so she'd have more money to squander on commodities. And my friends only liked me for my yard.

I reach my house and turn the doorknob, not bothering to switch the sign hanging on it to "OPEN". I'm far too exhausted to run my nighttime treasure buying business this evening. And besides, Gondo is practically my only customer and his face is one of the last things I want to see right now. Once inside, I spot my mother's rotund form leaning over the coffee table on the other side of the room. Sometimes I think I am pathetic, twenty-five years old and still living with my mother. Most of us leave the nest by our late teens. Then again, Gondo and I are the same age and he's still living with his mother too. It makes me feel a little bit better, knowing I'm not the only loser in this town still leeching off his parent. Misery likes company, I guess.

"Oh, good, you're home!" my mother exclaims, spinning around. Her shrill voice is like a knife to my ears. "Come over here and give me your opinion on something."

I can't help but groan. "Not now," I say, massaging my aching forehead.

"Oh, come on! It'll only take a minute," she says sharply. She directs my gaze down to the coffee table, where she has spread out an assortment of antique paper fans. She snatches up a green one and a purple one. "Which one do you like better? This one?" she asks, fanning herself with the purple one. "Or this one?" She hides the purple fan behind her back and switches to green.

I let out an annoyed sigh, still rubbing my head. There's no point arguing with her; she will always win. After a few seconds of consideration, I point to the green fan.**  
**

"Really?" she says, holding them up to compare them side by side. "I think I like the purple one."

I throw my arms up in the air. "Why did you even ask me then?"

She just shrugs and goes back to puzzling over her antiques. I heave another tired sigh and retire to my corner of the house. One day I'll make enough money to buy my own place and move out of this hellhole. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but one day. I just have to keep telling myself that.**  
**

I collapse facedown on my bed to sleep off my migraine before its time to go back to work again.**  
**


	3. Trash Picking

**A/N:** Have I ever mentioned how much I hate the document editor? Because I do. If you ever read a new chapter right after I update and there are words missing or random sentences are spliced together, I apologize. I don't always catch all the errors on my first proofread.

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**Chapter 3: ****Trash Picking**

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Pumpkin. I'm so sick of pumpkin. Pumpkin soup, pumpkin muffins, pumpkin omelets. That's all they ever serve here. So now here I am, hungrily waiting for the cook to finish making the two large pumpkin pancakes I ordered. Avoiding my gaze, she slides her spatula under one of the orange cakes and lifts up an edge to check if it's done. It's not. I feel a twinge of annoyance. How long does it take to make pancakes? I've been standing here for over 5 minutes! I cast an anxious look in the direction of my shop, trying to refrain from staring at the cook and making her feel uncomfortable.

Finally, she flips my pancakes onto a plate and hands me my food. It's about time. I fuel up on black coffee at the bar and pick a table far away from the village idiot so I don't lose my appetite. I sit down and take a sip of coffee. It's surprisingly good. I prop my elbow up on the table and rest my heavy head on my hand, waiting for the caffeine to dissolve some of the haziness in my mind. No matter how many hours of sleep I get, I always feel like an absolute wreck when I wake up. Especially when my mother does the waking by repeatedly opening and shutting her closet doors at 6 o'clock in the morning. I come here to get away from my mother. And then I go home at the end of the day to get away from everybody else. And then the cycle repeats, over and over again. A never ending cycle of misery; such is my life.

A short old man wearing brown a doo rag catches my eye. At that moment, I realize I have been staring at this guy in a daze for the past 15 seconds. I immediately look away and focus on my pancakes, keeping him in my peripheral vision. Oh no. What is he doing? He's walking over here, heading straight for my table. Why is he coming over here? There are empty tables all over the place! _No, go sit over there!_ _Go away! _"Hello!" I perk up and greet him with a friendly smile when he reaches the table. A wave of exhaustion immediately comes crashing over me with the effort. People. They're all just a bunch of parasites conspiring to suck the life energy out of me.

For a few seconds the old man just stands there at the other side of the table and studies me with his beady little eyes. "You may not know me, but I know you…Rupin."

I gaze up at him expectantly, but he doesn't say anything else. How in the world am I supposed to respond to that? "Um…yes? That's me," I answer awkwardly. When he still doesn't elaborate, I ask, "Can I help you?"

"How 'bout I buy us a beverage?" he offers.

So he came all the way over here just to offer to buy me a drink? How insulting. Do I really look so needy? "I'm fine, thank you," I say, lifting up my cup of coffee. I'm too proud to accept charity from random strangers. Doo Rag turns around, and for just a moment I think he took the memo and is leaving to sit somewhere else. But then he pulls a chair up to the table and plops himself down across from me. I groan internally. What makes this old man think I want to make boring small talk with him? I just want to eat my breakfast in peace and be left alone! Is that so much to ask?

"Hey, I may be old, but I'm not boring."

I blink across the table at him. Uh oh. Did I look bored just now? "Ahaha, you're not boring me! Not at all," I say, grinning. He doesn't look convinced. I must not have enough caffeine in my bloodstream yet. I press my mug to my lips and take a large gulp of coffee.

"Let me share a bit of wisdom that might come in handy down the line," he says, crossing his arms. "The name's Croo, by the way."

Croo. I'll probably remember that for the next…whoops, already forgot it.

"Anyway," he goes on, "The sky is full of floating islands of all shapes and sizes. Skyloft just happens to be the one we live on..."**  
**

_Oh really? I hadn't noticed._ I lean forward on the edge of my seat to appear interested in what he's saying. Something about his tone of voice irks me. He speaks this slow, deliberate way that makes me feel like he's insulting my intelligence. Like he presumes I'm just some dumb hooligan because I'm significantly younger than he is. I can't stand it. I start to eat faster so I can get away from here at the earliest opportunity, tearing at my pancakes like some kind of savage. I wash them down with a prolonged sip of coffee, guzzling it down at a rate far faster than is healthy. Then I go back for more pancakes. Coffee. Pancakes. Coffee. Pancakes.

"—so you'll want to steer clear of those remlits when you're walking home from work..." he trails off and gives me a weird look. "You okay?"

"Oh—yes, I'm fine!" I put my fork down and straighten my posture, trying to look more alert. "Just a bit tired."

"Tsk, tsk," he says, shaking his head in disapproval. "Only one thing to do when you're tired: get some sleep."

I just stare at him blankly. Who does this old man think he's kidding?

"You can sleep anywhere there's a bed, you know," he says.

I give a dry laugh. "Not exactly." You can sleep in an alley passed out drunk too, but that's not exactly a comfy bed.

He shrugs his shoulders, arms still crossed. "Find a bed and take a nap until nightfall."

"Heh." I roll my eyes good-naturedly and take another sip from my mug.

"There's all kinds of curious things to enjoy at night."

I choke, almost spraying coffee out all over the table. I cover my mouth with my free hand and force myself to swallow, searching his face. His expression is unreadable. "Curious things…?" I echo.

He nods his head and says very seriously, "Skyloft is a different place after the sun goes down. It's no lie."

I squint at him. Is this guy for real? Or is he just mocking me? Ugh, never mind. I don't even care. "Ahahahaha!" I humor him with a fake bout of laughter and dump the rest of my coffee down my throat in one go. Letting out a sigh, I set my cup firmly on the table and rise out of my seat. "Well, I guess I'll have to keep your advice in mind!" _Just in case I ever feel like contracting bed bugs. _"It's about time I got going. Have a good day, sir!"

He just stares at me without saying anything. What a weirdo.

I make a quick getaway from the restaurant and escape to my corner of the bazaar, avoiding Sparrot's gaze as I pass by his tent. Hm, that's odd. Manhands and Bertie haven't arrived yet. Usually they always get here before I do because it takes them longer to set up. I unlock my storeroom and begin making preparations. As I'm carrying some displays out to the shop, I clumsily drop a quiver full of arrows all over the floor. Grumbling, I set down my armload of gear and bend over to pick them up. Just as I finish arranging the arrows on the counter, I hear a commotion at the door.

"Whaddya do with her rattle, Bertie?!"

"I…I don't know," Bertie's meek voice stutters. "The baby must have dropped it at some point."

"Well, you'd better find it!" Manhands comes stomping through the doorway, swinging her arms like a gorilla. All of the sudden, a high-pitched wail reaches my ears. Seriously. They brought the baby to work again? Yesterday wasn't just a one time deal? Sure enough, Bertie staggers in shortly after his wife, lugging the demon baby on his back. He teeters to a stop and slumps against the door frame, trembling. The man is exhibiting all the signs of extreme sleep deprivation. Shortness of breath, dark circles under the eyes...he turns his head and notices me staring at him.

"Oh..." his pale lips form a ghost of a smile. "Good morning, Rupin," he says. His eye twitches.

The baby opens its mouth and screams, pounding on Bertie's back with its little fists. The three of us give a collective wince.**  
**

"Um...is everything all right?" I ask innocently, putting on a concerned frown.

"What do you think?!" snaps Manhands.

Well._ That_ was uncalled for. Even though this is kind of my fault. What am I saying? No, it was all Bertie's fault.

Manhands orders Bertie to keep the baby entertained while she fires up the cauldrons. He twists his neck around and tries to console it by making ridiculous faces at it and babbling nonsensically. This works for an entire minute and then the baby throws another fit, screeching its displeasure. I have a feeling this isn't going to be good for business.

"Is this a permanent arrangement?" I can't help but ask.

Manhands looks up from her cauldron and glowers at me. "What's_ that_ supposed to mean?"

I swallow my annoyance. "Ah, well, this is just a suggestion but..." she's still glaring at me. "Perhaps you could invest in a caretaker for the baby?" I kindly suggest, keeping my voice high and light. "Or maybe one of you could stay home with her during the day. Then you could work easier."

Bertie lifts his head and looks at me, a tiny sparkle in his ragged eyes. I think Bertie has just seen the light.

But then Manhands explodes.

"ARE YOU CALLING MY BAY-BAY A NUISANCE?!" she roars, her face contorting with rage. "YOU LITTLE PUNK! YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT IT'S LIKE TO HAVE KIDS I ONLY GOT 8 HOURS OF SLEEP LAST NIGHT!"

I shrink back to avoid the spit that's flying in my direction, trying very hard not to let my composure slip. I grit my teeth and treat Manhands much in the same way I would an enraged customer, listening to her quietly as she fires curse word after curse word at me. There is no reasoning with this woman. The baby becomes distraught at all the noise and starts kicking its legs and screaming along with her.

"Um...Luv?" Bertie says feebly, "Please—"

"DON'T TELL ME TO SETTLE DOWN!"

A flash of movement to my right catches my eye. I turn to see a few customers frozen in the doorway, looking positively horrified. I can only imagine what it must be like to walk in on this scene. "Hello!" I bounce over to them and break the ice with a welcoming smile, using them as a smooth diversion. "Please, friends, come feast your eyes on this landscape of fantastical treasures I have prepared for you today! _Pay no attention to the rampaging gorilla woman," _I whisper through my teeth. But the damage has already been done. The customers give me little more than a cautious nod and proceed on their way.

Manhands finally notices there are customers in the vicinity and goes back to the usual clapping routine, but the baby is still bawling up a storm. I watch with bated breath as Bertie tries and fails to soothe it again and again. The noise is ten times more grating than my mother's voice. Like someone is shoving a dagger into my eardrum and twisting it. It makes me want to grind my teeth together. I glance at the door. I am itching to hop over the counter and run out that door right now. But what if a customer needs my help? I cross and uncross my arms, tapping my foot anxiously. I can't seem to sit still. It's the caffeine. I'm jittery from OD'ing on caffeine. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to put the incessant wailing out of my mind, but it's impossible to ignore. A throbbing pain sears through back of my neck and head. My headache is returning. I...I can't deal with this any more. I'm going crazy. I have to get out. I just have to get out! As the customerless morning slogs on, only one thought becomes poignant in my mind. This baby—this monster—it has to be stopped!

I put up my 'lunch break' sign and stroll past the potion shop casually, making for the door. Once I am out of sight, I break into a run and dash around the outside of the building to get to the dumpster. I bound up to the first trash can I see and take a look inside.

It's empty. Completely empty, except for a sheet of paper and a half eaten apple. But I'm sure this is the trash can I threw the rattle in! I jostle the can from side to side, as if expecting the rattle to roll out from under the piece of paper if I stare at it hard enough, but there's nothing else. I toss it away and check the others, but they're all empty. Figures. The one day in my five years of working here when I actually need to go digging through the dumpster, that lazy garbage boy takes the trash out on time.

I sprint back the way I came, but instead of going around the bazaar I rush straight out to the nearest sky pier. I charge down the boardwalk, screaming at the top of my lungs, "Wingy!"

Yes, "Wingy." The extent of my naming creativity at the tender age of 10. Back then, I could never figure out how to do that whistle everybody else does to call their loftwings, so I would just call her by screaming her name. Alas, now that's the only thing she responds to, so it's not as if I can just change it. Either I suck it up and yell, "Wingy!" or I fall to my death.

I run off the end of the pier and leap out into the open air, spreading my limbs to intercept my bird. A flash of lime green swoops up from underneath the island and I slam onto Wingy's sturdy back. I tightly grip the belt around her neck and position myself into a low crouch as she takes to the sky, spreading her blue and yellow-tipped wings. Gently tugging on her belt, I steer her in a wide arc around the Statue of the Goddess, shifting my weight with her as she banks left. With a few great beats of Wingy's wings, Skyloft shrinks to a little patch of green in the clouds below.

Once we reach a higher altitude, a gale blowing from the northwest whistles in my ears and we pick up speed. Wingy levels out her wings to their full length and coasts downwind. But this isn't a joy ride. _Faster!_ I urge her, digging my heels into her sides_._ She lets out an ear-piercing screech and takes a powerful stroke, propelling us forward. Before long, we soar over the Lumpy Pumpkin tavern, alerting me that we are a little less than halfway there.

I smell our destination before I see it, a slight foulness on the wind. I grip Wingy's belt a little tighter with one hand and pinch my nose shut with the other, scanning the clouds. My eyes fall upon a small, grayish island floating close to the cloud barrier, so close that it's partially enveloped in fog. I can just make out the giant ditch—a landfill—carved into its center. At some point they decided it was unethical of us to dump our trash over the side of Skyloft, so they created this place. I've been out here on one other occasion, when my mother's favorite lawn gnome "accidentally" got taken out with the trash. My mother isn't the most...active person. So naturally, she made me go and get it. It's a pain to fly all the way out here, but I guess it beats living on top of our own filth. Setting my sights on the single wooden pier jutting out from the island, I apply a little bit of pressure to Wingy's neck and will her to go _down_. She clicks her bill in protest.

"We're going down there whether you like it or not!" I yell over the wind, pressing down on her neck a little harder.

Wingy slows, and for a moment we just hang in the air. Then she folds her wings close to her body and dips down at an angle. I instinctively flatten myself against her back as she veers into a steep dive, cutting through the air like a knife. When I think we're about to crash, I yank the belt backwards. Wingy utters a surprised squawk and throws her wings out, breaking our fall. She flaps her wings three times, slowing us down, and alights on the pier. I slide off her back and run inland. Trash that has been taken out recently is always piled near the landing for a while before being dumped into the ditch, so it should be around here somewhere. Wingy lingers on the pier at first, but then her curiosity gets the better of her and she slowly strides along behind me, surveying the drab landscape with her unblinking yellow eyes. After less than a minute of searching, I spot a fresh-looking pile of trash bags halfway between the pier and the ditch. Buzzing with horseflies and reeking of decay...

Well, I didn't come all the way here just to stare at this mound of trash bags. Holding my breath, I grab one from the bottom of the pile and start untying it. If the rattle's inside one of them, it should be near the top. Wingy patters up to my side and cranes her neck to see what I'm doing. She looks on with mild interest as I open and check each bag. I grow increasingly frantic as the pile of unopened bags diminishes to nothing and I'm still not finding it.

Without allowing myself a second to contemplate what I must do next, I tear open the nearest bag and plunge my hands into the filth. My fingers meet with something orange and mushy. Rotting pumpkins. The sour stench permeates my nose. I turn away and break into a stream of coughing. It's so bad my eyes are watering. Once my coughing subsides, I take in a deep breath and force myself to keep going. I claw through the garbage bags like a madman, combing the refuse for that slobbery rattle, that little piece of trash that has now become my most desired treasure. As I'm going through the trash, I feel like I'm reliving the past week at the bazaar. I sift through shards of broken china from a plate the village idiot dropped the other day, a bag of burnt wood chippings from the scrap shop, what looks like hazardous waste from one of Bertie's experimental brews. An unknown number of minutes later, I finish picking over every inch of the load, but the rattle is still nowhere to be found. Why isn't it here?! Did it slip out of the garbage during transport and fall below the cloud barrier? If it did, it's lost forever.

I throw my hat on the ground and let out a deafening scream, unleashing all the pent-up frustration that has built up within me in the past two days. Wingy looks at me as if I have lost my marbles. I probably have. I don't know.

I heave a lengthy sigh, deflating like a balloon. What I do know is that I will be losing too many valuable customers' rupees if I continue on at this rate. My break must have ended over an hour ago. I bend down and pick up my soiled hat, accepting my failure.

"C'mon, Wingy," I say weakly, putting my hat back on my head. "Let's go back."

It takes longer to travel back to Skyloft flying against the wind. When the orange roof of the bazaar comes into sight, we descend, aiming to land in the grass beside it. As soon as we touch down, Wingy roughly dumps me off her back and stretches her neck over her shoulder to preen her feathers. I don't blame her. I'm an absolute mess. I am coated in a layer of grime, my white shirt stained beyond recognition. My fingernails are caked with dirt, and I stink of rotting pumpkins and whatever was in that bag from the potion shop. I disgust myself.

I brush the moldy pumpkin seeds off my apron, take a deep breath, and head back into the bazaar, bracing for the worst. The first thing that greets me when I enter is that wretched baby, still screeching its little head off. A few tolerant souls are hanging out by my stall wondering where I am, because they just love to show up when I'm not here.

"Hello, friends!" I grin, jogging up to my stall. "I'll be right with you!"

The customers give me concerned looks as I shuffle past them to get into my shop. A few of them wrinkle up their noses. Even Bertie and Manhands look a little bit grossed out when they see what's become of me. I know they're all judging me, but I just keep on smiling.

Just keep smiling…

-o-o-o-o-o-

**A/N:** Didn't think you were gonna go the entire story without meeting Rupin's loftwing did you? ;) Also, Croo's "advice"? 100% verbatim. I didn't change a word.

These three chapters were kind of like my "Pilot Episodes". I was originally going to take a break here and go work on my other story for a while, but screw that. I'm having way too much fun with this. And on top of that, people are actually reviewing it! Like, holy crap! Thanks so much, guys. I can't tell you how much I enjoy reading your nice comments. :)


	4. A Day Off

**Disclaimer: All characters belong to Nintendo. Except Wingy.**

-o-o-o-o-o-

**Chapter 4: A Day Off**

-o-o-o-o-o-

I open my eyes to see sunlight filtering through the window. Oh no. What am I doing in bed?! I should be at work right now! I shoot up off my pillow, and then I remember. Right...today's the annual bird rider's ceremony. The bazaar is closed for the day.

I look over at the clock. It's almost noon; I guess I missed the beginning of the ceremony again. Oh well. I lay my head back down on my pillow to doze for a couple more minutes. But when I close my eyes, I see them. Customers. Some passing me by without a glance, some stopping and staring at me expectantly. Suddenly, I'm standing behind my stall at the bazaar, and the rest of the place is materializing around me. _No!_ I jolt awake and spring out of my bed. Not today.******  
**

I make my way over to the kitchen and fix myself a hearty breakfast of tea and stale toast, taking care not to accidentally bump into one of my mother's antique vases that crowd the counter. As I'm sitting down to eat, I notice a clean pair of my clothes folded up on the table, along with a note.**  
**

_Rupin,_

_I couldn't stand the sight of those filthy rags of yours hanging on your closet door any longer, so I went ahead and washed them for you. No need to thank me. L.M. _

_P.S. __They delayed the Wing Ceremony. Apparently someone's bird went missing._

l hold my clean shirt up, pleased to see that all traces of yesterday's failed dump excursion are gone. At least my mother's good for something. I drop the note into the trash and change into my fresh clothes, deciding I may as well head over to the plaza. Sometimes I like to bet on the contenders and try to make a quick rupee.

After I finish my breakfast, I leave the house and start down the path to the bridge. It's actually pretty nice out. Not too hot, not too cold. The sun is shining, the skies are clear, a gentle breeze is spinning the pinwheels hanging above the cottages. It's perfect weather for competitive flying. Lucky chumps. When I near the stream, I spot my mother up ahead, chatting on the bridge with Gondo's mother and half a dozen other ladies. Her voice pierces through the commotion.**  
**

"Rupin likes pancakes!"

I groan aloud, slapping a hand to my forehead. Really? Does she have to talk about me? Gossip spreads through this town like a disease. I can't stand it. I mean, I guess she's not saying anything bad, but still. Why does the whole entire village need to know that I like pancakes?! Ugh. I turn around and double back to my house. Forget the Wing Ceremony. I have more important things to do anyway.

I walk around back through the graveyard and grab my bomb bag from my shed. I'm just putting the finishing touches on brand new batch of iron shields, but soon it'll be time to make more again. And to in order to do that, I'll need more treasure. Sometimes people sell me the treasure they find, but it's never enough. Too often, I have to turn down their offers because they want to sell me things I don't need at the moment, or they just want to sell me plain old junk. _No, Bertie, I don't want to buy the tumbleweed you fished out of your neighbor's garbage this morning. _

I attach my bag to my belt and jog out to the pier behind my house.

"Wingy!"

I dive off the the platform and free fall, the underside of the island rushing past me. Wingy catches me and we fly northward, gliding on the breeze lazily. I take in a deep breath and exhale through my nose, savoring the fresh air. It's nice to get away sometimes. Skyloft can be so suffocating. I look over my shoulder, down at the hundreds of tiny dots gathered in the plaza. It's pathetic. A thousand people, waiting on their haunches to watch these kids chase each other in circles all day. It's not even that interesting to watch. Half the time, the riders are so far out you can't even tell what's going on, and it can go on for _hours_. The longest Wing Ceremony on record lasted three and a half days and it was excruciating_._ I would know. I flew in it.

I turn my gaze away from Skyloft, sighing. Knight School. The thought of it brings back a wave of sour memories. I entered the academy the first year I was eligible, when I was 17 years old. Not because I wanted to, but because my mother all but forced me to. Knights are held in the highest regard around here, always on the lookout for pest infestations, rabid remlits, and the occasional depressed sap who decides to...take a little tumble off the edge of the island. I, of course, had no interest in saving peoples' lives, not to mention my misgivings over a female student who went missing at the academy a few years earlier. But my mother was very pushy. She had her heart set on me becoming a rich, prestigious knight she could brag about. _Just like your father was…_ she would say dreamily.

So much for that. I was marked as a laughing stock from Day 1, when the Headmaster called attendance during the first flight class. _Rupin, and…Wingy._ Wingy. That was the end of it. Before long, the other students in my class made a hobby of throwing rotten eggs at me. My mother was no help. _Oh, just man up and ignore them! _she would tell me. Yeah, well, it was kind of difficult to ignore them when they were smashing eggshells into the back of my head! It was awful. I didn't have any great friends either. Well, I guess there was Gondo. Sort of. He didn't throw eggs at me, but he hung out with the schmucks who threw eggs at me, so I was always careful of getting too chummy with him. Looking back, I don't know why Gondo even wanted to go to knight school in the first place. He would always blow off his homework to mess with his mechanical gizmos, so I'm guessing he just did it to put off entering the "real world," aka the second-rate lives we're living now.

My bullies were ruthless, pelting me with eggs between classes, in the dining hall, every chance they got. But I didn't quit so easily. What I needed was a shield. That jerk Commander Eagus wouldn't let me borrow one from the armory, so I started making my own shields. I crafted them out of anything I could get my hands on: pumpkin shells, dinner plates. I even made a shield out of the downstairs toilet lid once. The cleaning lady confiscated that one once she realized what it was. I carried one of my hand-made shields with me wherever I went, and over time got quite good at blocking the rotten egg assaults. So eventually, they stopped throwing projectiles at me and started stealing and hiding my clothes while I was in the bathroom instead.

The long and miserable school year culminated with Wing Ceremony, the day when all the underclassmen clamber for the chance to graduate to senior class. In the weeks leading up to the big day, I aced my written exam and passed the flying pretest by a fraction of a point, qualifying to compete. The rules of the competition were simple. Chase the golden bird towing the statuette; the first contender to catch the statuette wins. Oh, and _the race doesn't end until_ _somebody catches it._

Three and a half days. Three and a half days of chasing each other in circles like idiots. The instructors whistled us in at dusk and threw us back out there at dawn. The wind was relentless, stinging my cheeks and spinning off miniature cyclones every which way I looked. The fog, disorienting. And the sunburn. I didn't realize just how bad it was until I looked in the mirror one night and the rest of my face was as red as my cheeks. Blisters broke out on my hands from hours of gripping Wingy's belt, and my legs cramped up from being stuck in the riding position for far too long. Every joint and muscle in my scrawny body was stiff. And the elements weren't the only thing out to get me. It just so happened my fellow competitors were saving up a special stash of rotten eggs just for the occasion, and it was _a lot_ harder to block those things and fly at the same time. Judging by the huge yellow and blue mess that had to be mopped off the light tower after last year's ceremony, the tradition is still going strong. Just another good reason to get away from Skyloft for the day. **  
**

By the third day, I had already resigned myself from the race in my mind. I didn't care about winning any more. I just wanted it to be over. I just wished somebody would catch that stupid statue and end it! But we were all incompetent losers so it just dragged on and on and _on_. It even poured down rain on the last day, and it hardly ever rains! By then, I was at my wit's end. I'd had enough. I just couldn't take it anymore. When the refs weren't looking, I landed Wingy on a small island and forced her to hole up in a cave with me against her will. It turned out I wasn't the only one with that bright idea. I found Gondo already in there, blowing off the Wing Ceremony. We discovered we had a lot in common that day. Like that we were both thinking of quitting the academy. Needless to say, after a short talk, we decided to go through with it. Everybody who was stupid enough to bet their rupees on us sure wasn't happy about that. But no one was unhappier than my mother…

Wingy utters a disgruntled rasp, rousing me out of my memories. She doesn't like reflecting on these things either. I reach over and give her a pat on the head. None of that matters anymore anyway.

I put it out of my mind and turn my thoughts back to the task at hand, looking around for an island to land on. Our greedy ancestors have picked these islands over, so now I have to fly really far if I actually want to find anything. After a while, I spot an medium-sized island with some large outcroppings of rock that I don't think I've been to. Looks promising enough.

I touch down on the rockier side of the island and dismount my bird, petting the soft feathers on the back of her neck. I like Wingy. She doesn't judge me. Wingy turns her head in my direction and stares at me in silence. Then she sticks her neck out and starts gnawing on my arm. It hurts a little bit, but this is Wingy's convoluted way of showing affection, so what am I supposed to do?

"Alright, get out of here, you," I say, pushing her bill away. She flaps her wings and takes off over my head, beating back a strong gust of wind that almost knocks me off my feet. For a few moments, I watch her glide away, a green disk against the clear blue sky. I pull down my shirt sleeve to see a couple new scrapes. My arm has become so gnarled from years of her biting it. I silently acknowledge that it's my fault for letting her.

I crack my knuckles and swivel my bomb bag to my side. Time to blow up some rocks. I pace along the rock formation and begin looking for a good place to set off a bomb. Mostly, I just find old amber relics and ornamental skulls on my treasure hunting expeditions, but if I'm lucky I'll blast open a sweet spot and find a deposit of Eldin ore, the main ingredient I use to make my metal shields. I slowly work my way around the perimeter of the island, scanning the greyish stone for cracks and other signs of weakness. As I'm walking along, I accidentally step in something black and squishy. A pile of campfire ashes. Is this island occupied? I lift my head and see a large, square structure made of wood and wire mesh rising above me. Resting on top of it are two giant propellers. Oh my. I zip back around the corner and flatten myself against the rock face. It's Beedle's Air Shop. Which means _Beedle_ is somewhere nearby. I have to get out of here.

"Wingy!" I call as loud as I dare. "Wingy come back!"_ It's urgent! _I try to impress upon her. I begin inching back the way I came as quietly as possible, hoping I wasn't overheard. Beedle is probably the last person in the world I want to have obligatory social interactions with. Sweaty tree hugging hippie. For the past year or so, he has been nothing but an irksome thorn in my side, hovering above the bazaar like he thinks he's all that. Everyone runs around like chickens with their heads cut off when Beedle peddles his flying shop to town. When I couldn't stand it anymore, I went up there myself to scope out my competition and see what all the hype was.

Beedle's Air Shop? More like Beedle's Sweat Shop. When I got up there, the first thing I was greeted with was the raw stench of body odor and unwashed clothing. And there was the infamous Beedle, peddling a bicycle furiously and slick with sweat. I have never once in my life seen Beedle wearing a shirt. I don't know what it is, whether he just likes to flaunt it or he just plain can't be bothered, but the guy doesn't even have the decency to cover up while he's working. I'll never forget the disgusting first impression I had of him, of his sweat dripping from his bad bowl cut down his naked back. The walls of his shop were lined with a series of rotating gears and pistons, all connecting back to his bicycle. It was then that I realized Beedle himself was the vehicle powering the propellers on the roof and keeping the shop afloat. I probably would have been somewhat impressed if I hadn't been so busy gagging on the awful smell.**  
**

Beedle was nice enough at first, I guess. He greeted me with enthusiasm and introduced himself, but he seemed a bit standoffish. Like he thought he was better than me just because he was exercising and manning his shop _and_ being eco friendly all at the same time. He quickly proved me right. 'With you on board, I have to pedal as hard as I can because of all the _extra weight_,' he moaned. What kind of way is that to treat a customer? And I'm not even heavy! I'm a wimp!

Despite Beedle's blatant rudeness, I remained cordial and began to browse his wares, like I came up there to do in the first place. The selection? Minimal. The prices? Outrageous. And If _I_ think they're outrageous, they are! Out of curiosity, I asked him about a strange medal with a heart engraved on it, and he didn't even know what the hell it was! But he was glad to tell me it was worth 800 rupees. Some shopkeeper. Honestly, I've never met another businessman with such a slapdash approach. And as all this was happening, he just continued to complain about peddling his bike. I had to try very hard to resist pointing out that he quite obviously _brought this upon himself_. And all for what? For what?! To save a couple more blessed butterflies? No one's stopping him from setting up shop in the bazaar. He could suck it up and deal with people like the rest of us, but no. He's_ above_ that. And that's not even the worst of it.

Concluding that Beedle's Air Shop was nothing more than an overrated novelty, I made to leave. But just before I walked out the door, he called out to me. He told me I had a lot of gall to leave without buying anything after he'd worked so hard to keep my excessively heavy self afloat. That was all it took to push me over the edge. I opened my mouth to make a witty comeback about how his overpriced junk wasn't worth a single one of my rupees, but before I could he shouted, 'off with you!' and pulled a string hanging from the ceiling. Next thing I knew, the floor had disappeared underneath me and I was howling in pain on the ground with a sprained ankle. It was agonizing! My foot was wrapped in a cast for three weeks. And it doesn't end there. The next time I had the misfortune to run into him, he didn't even acknowledge it! No apology, no nothing. It was as if he had completely forgotten what he did to me. He acted like it _never even happened._

The amazing thing is, no one but me seems to realize what a complete and total jerk-wad Beedle is. Nobody thinks twice when Beedle dumps his shoppers out the equivalent of a third story window because holy crow, his flying shop is just so _cool__! _It makes me sick. Sure, I get annoyed when people don't buy anything, but at least I'm still nice to their faces! I search the skies for a spot of bright green, growing impatient. What's taking Wingy so long? I close my eyes and try to sense her. She's somewhere close by. I should be okay to jump any second now...

"Ohh! Hello there, old bug."

Ohh, great. Just…great. I open my eyes to see Beedle's bare chest staring me in the face. "Beedle! Fancy running into you out here," I smile, shifting my gaze up to his sweat-stained face. "How have you been?"

Beedle stares past me, his eyes fogging over. "Things could be worse, I suppose..."

I stop myself from rolling my eyes. There he goes again, acting all mysterious and trying to egg me into asking about his petty problems. Well, I'm not going to humor him.

"So, what beckoned you out here, mate?" he asks, blinking out of his trance.

"Oh, you know. The usual," I shrug. "Hunting for treasure."

"Hmm. I see." He gives me a skeptical look. "I do hope you're not bombing. That's so bad for the environment."

"Me? Bombing? Psh, of course not," I say, shifting discreetly to hide my bomb bag behind my back. "It's just awful when people do that! I was going about it the old fashioned way. You know, digging in the dirt with my fingernails." I grin.

"Oh...that's a relief."

"Yep! Ahaha. I just love dirt. I can't get enough of it."

Beedle nods his head slowly, looking a bit zoned. I think he secretly hates me too, but I'm not 100% sure. "Funny you should mention treasure," he says at length. "Why, only a fortnight ago, I happened upon some crystallized Goddess tears."

"Goddess tears...?" my heart skips a beat. "You found a Goddess plume?!"

"Ah, yes. A Goddess plume. I suppose that's what the common folk call them these days."

Well, jeez. He could have just called it that to begin with. I don't know why he has to be so pretentious all the time. A Goddess plume...I've only ever found four of them. The crystals are extremely rare and extremely valuable, possessing mysterious magical properties that allow them to regenerate when broken. Some say they were dropped by the Goddess herself.

"Ahh," Beedle sighs. "Your gleaming diamond pupils yearn to gaze upon the treasure I speak of, do they not?"**  
**

Gleaming diamond—? I think I just threw up in my mouth. "Erm...yes?" I swallow. "I would love to!"**  
**

"Hmm," he muses. "Then come right this way."

He motions for me to follow him and saunters back around the rock formation. I trail him a couple steps behind. The silence between us is strangely uncomfortable. Maybe it's just because Beedle has this constant brooding air about him that wears on my nerves.**  
**

"So…what about you?" I ask, feigning curiosity. "What are you doing on this island?"

Beedle stops and stares bleakly at the pile of ashes on the ground. "This is where I make my dwelling," he says after a long pause.

Oh. So this is where he exiles himself to every night. We make it around the rocks and I get a better look at the wooden structure I stumbled across earlier. It appears to be some kind of docking station for his air shop. Seeing it now, I can't help but wonder if this flying shop is Beedle's...compensation, of sorts. There's a rumor going around that he doesn't have a loftwing. That he's a reject. A dud. He waited at the Statue of the Goddess year after year, but no bird came to him. I don't put much stock in rumors, but if it's true, it makes a lot of sense. If I were a loftwing, I'd rather buddy up with the village idiot than hull Beedle's sweaty behind all over the Goddess's creation.

Beedle leads me up a wooden ramp to the balcony of his air shop and we climb up a ladder to get onto the roof. When I get to the top, I see some metal bars built into the rock formation straight across from the air shop roof. A weathered red curtain is drawn between the bars, swaying in the breeze vacantly. Beedle leaps from the roof over to a section of rock protruding from the opening.**  
**

"Welcome to my humble abode!" he announces, throwing back what remains of the curtain to unveil a fine little hobo cave. I follow him across the gap and step inside. It's so empty. In the center of the cave is Beedle's bed, a pile of frayed blankets. Various odds and ends such as a treasure chest and a small yellow cage sparsely litter the floor, and pieces of shredded curtain adorn the walls. What's this guy doing, just throwing his money to the wind?

"A bit lacking in creature comforts, to be sure, but here I can relax in peace," Beedle says, ambling over to the treasure chest. Just then, I spot a small mountain of empty glass bottles stacked in the corner of the cave. I can just make out a silvery-purple residue lingering in the bottom of some of them.

"Are those Luv's potions?" I ask.

"Indeed."

"Ah." That explains a_ lot._

Beedle takes out the Goddess plume out of the chest—a big one—and drops it into my hand. The stone is weightless as a cluster of feathers and slightly translucent, shining with hues that morph from snowy white, to deep indigo, to violet. I hold it above my head, admiring the way it scatters the sunlight and colors the cave walls.

"Beautiful," I whisper, turning the marvelous crystal over in my hands once more. "Friend, I would love to buy this from you, but I didn't bring any money with me. Maybe next time you're in town—"

"Just take it," he cuts me off. "I have no use for such frivolities."

F…frivolities? That was a dig. He was obviously taking a dig at me. Well, I'll just pretend I didn't hear that. "Thank you, Beedle!" I bow my head gratefully. "I really owe you one, friend." As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I wish I could take them back. Why did I say that? Stupid! I don't owe him anything! If anything, he owes _me_ for throwing me off his helicopter and spraining my ankle.

"Well then, I'll just have to take you up on that, won't I?" he says, a mellow smile crossing his lips. "If I am ever in need of a favor in the future, I shall come straight to you."

Ugh, I want to kick myself. "A favor? Are you sure? Because I could give you 100 rupees for this." I think I'd rather pay him up front and be done with the transaction.**  
**

"Oh yes, I'm quite certain," he responds, rubbing his long, sunburnt nose. "After all, I already have everything I could ever want at the moment, for my most precious possession is my horned colossus beetle." He kneels down and picks up the yellow cage, holding it close to his face. "Just look at those magnificent pincers! I could gaze at him all day…"

Beedle trails off and freezes, staring intently at the giant bug. He doesn't even blink. Five seconds go by. Ten seconds.

...

...

"Well, I should probably get going."

"Oh?" He blinks at me in surprise, as if he had completely forgotten I was here. "Alright, then. See you around, old bug."

"Yeah...see you."

He gives me a curt nod and goes back to staring at his pet bug. I slowly back out of the cave, jump back onto the roof of the air shop, and climb down the ladder. Well. That wasn't awkward at all. As I'm walking down the ramp, I peek over my shoulder and catch one last glimpse of Beedle; he's still sitting in the same spot, completely enamored with his beetle. Ugh. Why do I even bother maintaining this fake friendship? Oh, right. My eyes fall upon the Goddess plume in my hand. Once in a while I still get good business deals out of it. I tuck the sparkling crystal safely away in my pouch. I don't like Beedle thinking I'm in his debt, but this was one treasure I couldn't turn down.

Hopefully, he'll just forget about this little exchange like he forgot about the time he sprained my ankle.


	5. Life of a Salesman

-o-o-o-o-o-

**Chapter 5: Life of a Salesman **

-o-o-o-o-o-

A blood-curdling screech penetrates my ears. I grit my teeth and shut my eyes tight in a vain attempt to block it out. The noise isn't as constant as it was the other day, but the baby still throws regular tantrums. And it doesn't help that Bertie never gives the ugly thing break. I don't think I've seen him take it off his back once. He stirs his banged-up cauldron round and round, and the baby just spins around with him. Constantly. It's a wonder the thing hasn't thrown up all over his shoulder yet.

When the bawling gets to be too much for even Bertie to handle, he stops mixing his potion and makes goofy faces at the baby to calm it down. Is there not another rattle in all of Skyloft? Every time I think about losing that germy, snot-encrusted toy, it frustrates me. I just don't understand where it disappeared to. At least Manhands isn't speaking to me anymore. That's the only good that's come out of this.

I distract myself by shining my iron shield display for the third time today. Manhands hasn't spoken a single word to me since her blow up. She's just quietly standing over there with her head down, absorbed in her potion making. I rub the surface of the rectangular shield until it sparkles, and the white bird print design on it seems to pop. Thanks to my day off, I managed to finish these and get them back in stock ahead of schedule. I wish I had a longer break though, to actually take some time to relax...but then if I had longer breaks, I'd never make enough money, so I guess it's stupid of me to wish for that. Putting down my rag, I carelessly let my gaze wander over to the little purple tent in the middle of the Bazaar, and I lock eyes with Sparrot. I immediately break eye contact and go back to polishing my shield. Great. For whatever reason, Sparrot has decided to stare at me today. Usually the poor girl who runs the item check is subjected to that, being directly across from him, but once in a while the squat fortuneteller takes to eyeballing me or Gondo. He's always sitting perfectly still under his tent, his freakishly large blue eyes following people as they pass him by. Like one of those spooky old paintings that seems to have its eyes on you no matter where you're standing. It's no wonder he hardly gets any customers.

Another loud wail forcibly rips my attention away from my work. Why? Just, why? Bertie stops stirring once again to quiet the baby. Despite the break, he looks more beaten down than ever. Its like he has a giant tumor on his back that's slowly killing him. Once the baby's howling recedes into soft laughter, he wipes some sweat from his forehead and picks up his ladle again. Whoa. Hold up. Did Bertie just drop a hair into his cauldron? ...

I'll just pretend I didn't see that.

I let out a sigh. This couple. They're going to drive me mad. Bertie and his unsanitary ways. Manhands and her...manhands. I've considered moving spaces countless times, but it seems like I never get around to it. It would be such a hassle to move everything, and I worked so hard to procure this particular stall. It's spacious, it's convenient for the knights, I've got this nice little backroom I can hide in if things get ugly...no! I cross my arms in defiance. I'll never let them chase me out of this spot! Never.

"Hey! You there! The adorable boy with the golden hair!" Manhands shouts, clapping her palms together raucously. She may as well be pounding a hammer against my skull. I look to my right to see a green-clad knight casually strolling through the entrance, lost in thought. He turns his messy bedhead in Manhands's direction.

"Yes, you!" she says, putting her hands on her hips. "You're one a' those knights, aren't you? Or one in training, at least, hmmm? Let me tell you, one look at you and I can tell you'll need my potions by the cauldron full! So don't try to slink away without stocking up!"

The knight hesitates for a moment, but then ambles over to check out her shop of horrors. Curses. If I had been paying attention, maybe I could have gotten to him first. His uniform and cap are a darker shade of green I haven't seen before. He must be a new knight. And new knights are always looking to buy new gear. Hopefully, he won't squander all his rupees on potions before he has a chance to come over here. I move to the front of the counter to eavesdrop on their exchange, pretending to organize some arrows. Little does the knight know, I am waiting to pounce on him like a bloodthirsty remlit.

"You ever been to the potion shop before, boy? No? Alright, then! I'll give you my full spiel," she says, sweeping a hand over the array cauldrons embedded into her counter. "Oh, but first, I should warn you that you need to bring your own bottle to buy anything here." Because she's too cheap to provide them. "Understand, dear?"

"Oh," the knights says. "Actually, I—"

"Good! Here we go!"

Here it comes. The age-old 'spiel'. I've heard her go through it so many times that I've thought up my own sales pitches for each of her products to occupy my mind when I'm bored.

"This is a vat of Heart Potion!" explains Manhands, tapping a cauldron of red liquid. "Drink this, dear, and it will instantly give you a burst of energy. Better yet, it's only 20 rupees a bottle! The price is more than generous, if I do say so myself!"

Friend, this tasty red energy drink will keep the blood pumping through your veins at the most exhausting of times! Just don't drink too much at once or you may find that your heart potion has just become a heart-attack potion. Don't worry! Red potion is generously cheap, so we are totally willing to refund you your 20 rupees if you should run into any life-threatening health problems.

"Now _here's_ a potion that'll put some fire in your belly." Manhands points the cauldron beside the red potion, what looks like a giant pot of boiling green acid. "This amazing concoction is called stamina potion. Drinking it will help you physically exert yourself for longer stretches of time and build muscle mass. It never hurts to work on the old guns! It's a little pricey at 50 rupees per bottle, but well worth it. You'll see results in less than a week!"

Stamina potion will certainly provide you with that extra boost you need to reach your ideal physical fitness. There's just one minor drawback. If you don't keep up with your workout regimen, the formula might backfire on you and slowly begin to morph you into the opposite gender. Again, that's _only_ if you neglect your daily dose of physical activity. Honestly, friend, can you think of a better motivator for exercising? See: Manhand's mustache and the village idiot's flabby pectoral muscles.

"Now, if you're looking for something a little more potent, you'll want to pick up some of this," she says, motioning for the knight to follow her to the other end of the counter. She stops at a cauldron of thick, silvery-purple substance that resembles liquid metal. A light grey mist rises off of it. Manhands wafts some mist toward her with one hand and inhales through her nose deeply. "Ahh," she sighs, her eyelids drooping. "Take a whiff if you like! This one still needs to ferment a couple more weeks before it'll be ready, but the wait will be well worth it. It's my famous guardian potion! Boy, if you ever find yourself facing a monster that's a little out of your league, this is the stuff for you. It'll make you feel invincible! It doesn't come cheap, though...it's 200 rupees a bottle."

Hold onto your wallets, friends! Luv's famous guardian potion will send you on a one way trip straight to la-la land. This powerful concoction induces a state of euphoria that numbs your senses and tricks your brain into thinking you're an unstoppable force of manpower. Up against a particularly threatening foe? No sweat! You won't have the common sense to run away. You could even be on the brink of death and won't even know it! Just like living a dream. Warning: this potion may or may not cause serious brain damage. But you'll be so far gone you won't notice that either, so what's the difference?

"Let's see, what'd I miss?" mutters Manhands, looking over the counters. "Oh! That one is air potion, a newer brew of mine." She points down the line to a vat of frothy blue potion. "One delicious gulp of this elixir and you'll be able to breath underwater for a limited time! You'll be like a little fish, young man!"

Air potion: just in case you've ever felt like staring at the litter on the bottom of the lake for more than 30 seconds.

"What's this?" The knight asks, walking over to the only cauldron Manhands hadn't mentioned.

"Whoa-ho ho! Slow down, dear!" she says, putting up her hands. "That one is not quite ready for public consumption yet, but I promise I'll have it out soon! It's a work in progress I like to call revitalizing potion. Pour this stuff on broken shield and BAM! It'll be as good as new!"

What?! A shield repairing potion? I crane my neck around the knight to see a new vat of purplish sludge. So she actually went through with it.

"I'm trying to make it so it'll work on skin too, but I haven't perfected the formula yet. You know how it goes…those pesky side affects." She sticks out her tongue. "In the meantime, I've got plenty of other great potions for you to try out, so take your pick!" She puts her hands on her hips and stares him down with a hungry look on her face. She looks like she might bite his head off if he refuses.

"Um...I think I'm good for now," the knight says. "Thanks."

"What?!" Manhands barks, her square jaw dropping. "You're telling me I explained all that for nothing?!"

The knight gives a shrug. "I don't have an empty bottle."

"Well then, why didn't you say so to begin with? Hmph! I don't need window shoppers here, dear..." Manhands crosses her arms and turns up her nose at her customer. He leaves the potion shop and walks toward my stall, looking a little bit peeved. Now's my chance.

"Ahaa! A customer!" I burst out, as if I had just noticed him. I hop aside to allow him into my shop. "Welcome, friend! My shop carries the finest products you'll find anywhere. It's always free to look, my friend, and there's no pressure to buy! No pressure at all..." I shoot Manhands a pointed look. She glares right back at me. Oh, it is _on._

I turn and face my customer, snapping back to my cheery self. "If you have any questions, please don't hesitate to ask!"

The knight gives me polite nod and begins to browse my gear. I notice has one of my wooden shields equipped on his back, but that doesn't mean I can't try to sell him another one. I put my tried-and-true strategy into action as he paces along the counters, hovering behind him at a moderately uncomfortable distance. Just enough to pressure him into making a harried purchase, but not enough to scare him away.

After a little while, he stops in front of the arrows. "How much are these?" he asks, picking one up and testing the point on his finger.

"Ah, yes! Arrows! They're sold in bundles of 10 for 20 rupees. Pardon me for asking, but you do have a bow, right?"

A pause, and then he shakes his head. Seriously? Who inquires about ammo when they don't even have a proper weapon?

"I do apologize, but I simply can't sell you these in good conscience if you do not have a bow," I inform him gently, slouching below his height to appear less imposing. He's a little on the short side. "Store policy, you see. Perhaps I could interest you in some of my other wares?"

He puts the arrow down and continues browsing. I decide to make pleasant chit chat to get on his good side. People just love to talk about themselves.

"So, I take it you participated in the flying competition yesterday? Do they still only graduate the winner?"

"Yep!" the knight says, stifling a yawn. "I won."

"Really?" Really? This dope is the one who won the Wing Ceremony? "Well then, congratulations! What was your time?"

"Hm...I think it was around 34 minutes?" he mumbles. "I probably could have caught it faster, but I had rotten eggs flying at me."

Of course he did. "An impressive time, nonetheless!" I say. "You must have worked very hard."

"Eh," he shrugs, a small smile crossing his face. "Not really."

"Ah," I pause thoughtfully, "so you're the type who just prefers to _wing it,_" I say, giving him a friendly nudge. I am so clever.

He utters a shallow laugh, scratching the back of his neck. "Yep, I guess you could say that."

Oh, I get it now. He's one of those lazy bums who gets by on natural talent and gets rewarded without hardly putting in any effort. I hate his type. Then again I just hate everybody.

I echo his laugh. "You have do what works best for you, I suppose. Again, my congratulations."

"Thank you," he says. His attention wanders over to the shield displays. "What kind of shield is this?" he asks, moving to stand in front of the iron shield.

"Ahaa! You have a sharp eye, my friend. Not surprising, coming from someone as bright and savvy as yourself," I lay on the compliments thick. He acts modest, but I can tell he's secretly eating this up. "That there is a very sturdy iron shield. It's much more durable than the wooden shield you currently have equipped, and I'm happy to report it won't burst into flames! I suppose I should warn you that it won't protect you from electricity, which could come as a nasty…shock." I wince for effect. I am not just a shopkeeper. I am an actor. "But that shouldn't be a problem as long as you don't fly during a lightning storm! Ahahaha. It's yours for just 100 rupees. It never hurts to have a spare shield on deck, am I right? Care to buy it, friend?"

He considers the shield another moment, then shakes his head. "It looks like a good shield, but I think I'll pass for now."

No?! For a second there, I thought I had him. All of the sudden, I realize I am giving him a death stare. I quickly recover. "Oh, yes, of course! That's quite all right, friend! You already have a perfectly fine shield, after all," I smile. "If you should ever need a replacement, I'll be right here!"

He nods, lazily leaning up against the counter. His arm wanders backward and accidentally bumps a rusty old jar sitting in the corner. He picks it up and brings it around front. "What's this?"

"Oh, that..." My tip jar. I nearly forgot it existed. I used to pressure people into giving me tips when I was younger and stupider, but it didn't work for me so I quit doing it. "That's just for tips! If you feel you've had exceptional service today and feel inclined to—"

"Hey Sweetie!" Manhands's voice rings across the bazaar. The knight turns and looks at her. I slowly turn my head toward her to see her waving a glass bottle high above her head, her eyes fixed on my customer. It's like I'm not even here.

"Look what I found!" she chimes, her gruff voice coated in a layer of sugar. "I had a spare empty bottle sitting here in the stall all along! Want it?"

Oh no, an empty bottle. How can I _ever_ hope to compete with—WHAT?! The knight leaves my shop and walks over there. You have got to be kidding me.

"Here ya go!" Manhands says, handing him the bottle. He thanks her. "Oh, it's nothing. It's just my little gift," she lets out a deep, throaty laugh, like she just said the funniest thing ever. "So, what'll you have?"

I look on with indignation as the knight scoops himself a bottle of red potion and pays Manhands a red rupee. Oh, how I want that rupee. If my conscience wasn't holding me back, I would tear across the room and wrench it out of her hands right now.

"Thank you, sweetie!" she trills, a big-lipped smile from ear to ear. Talk about a 180. It's like she's talking to her lover or something. No. She doesn't even talk to Bertie that way. "If you ever want a potion powered up, just go see my husband down at the end of the counter! Come again!"

The knight puts his bottle full potion away in his pouch and starts toward the exit. But then to my surprise, he stops and doubles back to my shop. He reaches toward my tip jar and drops two green rupees inside. For a moment, I just gape at the jar. A mix of being stunned at what just happened and slightly disappointed that he wasn't actually coming back here to buy anything.

"Th—thank you, friend! Thank you!" I bow. "Please, come again sometime!"

He gives me a smile and a nod before continuing on his way out. I pick up the tip jar and gaze down at the two green jewels sitting on the bottom, relishing the sight of the only money I've earned all day. I guess my efforts really are worth something. I look up and watch the green knight exit the bazaar. He's not such a bad kid. Maybe I was too harsh on him. I stare down into the jar again. Oh, who am I kidding? It's just two measly rupees!

I set down the jar back down on the counter and return to my post at the center of my store, looking around for another potential customer I can harass. Before long, a chubby, baby-faced kid appears at the Knight Academy entrance. He looks around warily, then waddles over to the potion shop and requests some stamina potion. I have half a mind to yell out to him and tell him that stuff causes hormonal problems, but I'm not as low as she is. And besides, the direct approach isn't really my style. Revenge from the shadows; that's my M.O.

After the customer pays and leaves with his potion, Manhands sets to work on her latest brew. The one that's supposed to repair my shields. It infuriates me. I already have Gondo mooching off my business with his repair service; I don't need another person doing it. Manhands takes some ingredients down from her shelves and spreads them out on her counter, purposely avoiding looking in my direction. It's strange, this wall of silence that's come between this is really what I wanted all along, so I'm not complaining. Still avoiding my gaze, she takes some unidentified plant leaves in her fist and crumbles them over top the pinkish-purple potion. When the leaves hit the surface, the potion flashes and glows a little brighter, illuminating her hard features in an eerie way. That woman is the devil. I am convinced of it.

And then it hits me.

If she can make a potion that repairs shields, why can't I make a shield that repairs itself?

That feeling bubbles up in my chest when I get a brilliant idea, and suddenly I remember the Goddess plume Beedle gave me yesterday. Goddess plumes can regenerate themselves when fractured. If I can find some way to infuse those properties into a shield...yes. Yes! I turn away from the potion shop to hide the smirk that's spreading across my face. If this works, I can render her new potion useless and usurp her customers right out from underneath her.

I rub my hands together, my mind racing to form plans. The thought of creating a new shield re-energizes me, so much that my good mood bleeds into my customer service and I even get a few more tips. As I occupy myself with thinking up ways to make my new shield, the rest of the day seems to go by a little faster.

"Good night! Good night!" I call to passerby happily as closing time approaches. Like I care whether these nameless strangers have a good night. "Have a good night!"

As soon as I'm done counting my money and closing up my shop, I run out into the evening and don't slow down until I reach the bridge. I am anxious to get home and start experimenting. When I get inside my house, I grab a lantern and a goddess plume from one of my top drawers and run back out. My mother watches me from across the room, fanning herself, but doesn't say anything. I head around the house to my backyard. The tombstones cast long shadows in the twilight, and the wind is rustling the trees. Yeesh, it's creepy back here at sundown. I retreat into the shed and lock the door behind me, just in case the remlits decide to come sniffing around back here. I set my lantern down in the center of the floor and lift the Goddess plume to my face. It gives off a soft, otherworldly glow in the dim light. I run my finger down one smooth, feather-like growth and snap the end of it off. Very slowly, it begins to grow back. A small chuckle escapes my lips.

Time to get to work.

-o-o-o-o-o-

**A/N:** Probably my least favorite chapter I've written so far, but I hope it had a few laughs. And hopefully Link's personality came through! He was the hardest character to write so far, for obvious reasons. On the topic of Link, it's time for some shameless advertising! My sister made a blog you guys might get a kick out of. Basically, she did an entire play-through of SS with Link named, "Sexy", and needless to say the results were hilarious and we took plenty of pictures. It's 'the-adventures-of-sexy' on tumblr. Just stick that into the middle of your url, and don't forget to read the tags 'cause they make it twice as funny.


	6. Surrounded by Idiots

-o-o-o-o-o-

**Chapter 6: Surrounded by Idiots**

-o-o-o-o-o-

I open my aching eyes, feeling disoriented. I thought I was lying in my bed, but here I am sprawled out on the cold, hard ground, gazing up into blackness. Oh, I guess fell asleep while I was working in my shed. I groan and roll onto my side, rubbing my tired eyes. I don't even know what time I conked out. It couldn't have been more than an hour ago. I force myself to sit up and look around at my dim surroundings. My lantern burned out, but now a thin shaft of sunlight is filtering through the crack between the double doors.**  
**

I throw open the doors and let the sunlight in, squinting my eyes against the brightness. I turn away from the harsh light and take a moment to admire my handiwork: the prototype shield I slaved away at all night. The shield is triangular and streamline in shape, and has a lavender sheen like the Goddess Plume infused within it. Its surface glitters like purple ice in the morning light. I spent all night trying to create the perfect compound. Too much iron and the shield doesn't do what it's supposed to do, to much crystal and it's too breakable. The end result is lighter and more maneuverable than a typical metal shield, but also very fragile. I can only hope the self-repair ability will make up for that. And now for the part I've been dreading.

I snatch a hammer and a large nail from my tool chest and anchor the nail at the center of my shield, slip up and I could ruin everything, but I have to test it out and see if it does what it's supposed to do. I concentrate very hard on the tip of the nail, my hands shaky from lack of sleep, my eyes sore with fatigue. Then in one quick, calculated motion, I give the nail firm tap. I flinch slightly as cracks spiderweb across the shield's surface, then sigh in relief when it doesn't shatter to pieces. I set the broken shield down carefully. I'll check on it before I leave for work. For now, _food. _In a lethargic haze, I exit the shed, walk around my house, and stumble through the front door, feeling lightheaded.**  
**

"Ruuupin, what are you up to?" a sing-song voice penetrates my foggy mind. I turn and give my mother a wry, tired glance. She's standing by the kitchen table, one hand on her hip, the other fanning herself gently. Her blonde hair is pulled back away from her round, pinkish face as usual, and she's wearing a blue dress. It's actually quite flattering on her. The darker color hides her fat rolls. "Not trying to avoid me, were you? Hoo hoo hoo," she chuckles softly. The tone is playful, but there's a hint of accusation.

"Of course not," I laugh, faking a smile. "Why would you ever think that?"

She narrows her eyes suspectingly. "Oh, just a hunch."

Great. She's annoyed about something and I have no idea what it is. Avoiding her prying gaze, I go over to the kitchen make some oatmeal. Pumpkin oatmeal. There's always this unspoken tension between us. Our relationship is so riddled with superficialities and personality clashes. She hoards things. I throw things away. She's a social butterfly. I want nothing to do with people outside their wallets. And I know she's had it out for me ever since I quit the knight academy. We never talk about it any more, but I can sense it; she's never been able to completely let go of that grudge. Understandable, I suppose. After all, she payed my way...but I just couldn't go on.**  
**

I take my food over to the table and start stabbing at it with a spoon to soften it up, still struggling to keep my eyelids from drooping shut. My mother pours herself a steaming cup of tea sits down across from me, her chair creaking under her weight. We dine in silence. She observes me with her squinty eyes as I eat, probably thinking about how disappointed she is in what I amounted to. Nothing is ever good enough for her. **  
**

"You know Rupin, I'm starting to think you just come here for food," she says, "like a stray cat."

I arch an eyebrow. "Your point?"

"Oh, just an observation," she shrugs. She takes a delicate sip from her teacup, pinkie finger extended and all. "So, what kind of schemes are you cooking up in that shed of yours, Hmm?" She sounds more like she's nosing for a juicy bit of gossip rather than showing a genuine interest in my activities. "I know you're scheming again."

I avert my gaze to my bowl, shoveling another bland spoonful of oatmeal into my mouth. I chew it slowly and swallow. "I'm making a new shield."

She gives me a quizzical look. "Well?" I mirror her expression. "Details?"**  
**

"It's a shield that can heal itself."**  
**

"Really now? Hmm," she puts her cup down and rests her chin in her hands, pursing her lips. "Somehow I don't think that's going to work."

I draw an exasperated breath, letting my arms flop onto the table. "Must you belittle everything I do?"

"I'm not belittling you. I'm just saying I don't think it's going to work."

Groaning, I prop an elbow on the table go back to picking at my food, choosing not to continue this conversation. Why does she always have to be like this? She'll say things that make me feel like a horrible, bratty little child. Then she'll go and take subtle jabs at my self-confidence. For some stupid reason, it still gets to me. I just want to move out of here. I hate relying on her like this. **  
**

"You know, Some people came looking for you last night," she mentions offhandedly.

Well, this is news to me. "No. I didn't know," I say, unable to prevent my irritation from seeping into my voice. "And just when were you planning on telling me this?"

"Now?"**  
**

I stare at her expectantly. She just stares back. "Well, what did they want? Did they want to sell treasure?"

"Mm...no, I don't think they had anything to sell," she says, but she doesn't sound positive. "I figured you didn't want to be bothered so I told them I didn't know where you were." I stare at her blankly as she lifts her cup to her lips takes a long sip of tea. When she's done, she picks up her handkerchief and dabs at her two chins as daintily as one of her girth possibly can. "Something wrong, dear?"

A snort of sardonic laughter escapes me. "Haha, nope! Everything's great. Just peachy," I say, flashing her a very forced grin. "Thanks a lot!" **  
**

"You're welcome." She goes for another sip of tea. I get up and leave the table, deciding I've had enough of her for one day.

I go back out to the shed to see how my shield's doing. It must have been at least 10 or 15 minutes since I broke it. To my dismay, it's still cracked. I pick it up and hold it up to my face, examining the damage closely. The cracks look thinner, but they are far from closing up completely. No good. The way these knights abuse these shields, this just won't work; this thing needs to repair itself in a matter of seconds. If I don't find some way to speed up the healing process, all my efforts will be for naught. I put the shield down and wrack my brain for a solution, but ideas immediately come to mind is just so shot from that all-nighter.

And then I remember. Blue feather oil. Gondo always greases my shields up with that stuff when he upgrades them. Surely, I could do the same...if I had any blue feathers. A frustrated groan gurgles in the back of my throat. Later. I'll figure it out later. Right now, I have to get going or I'll be late for work. I'll ask Gondo if he has any feathers when I get there.

As I'm approaching the bridge, I spot a cream-colored ball of fuzz with large, bat-like ears up ahead. A remlit. It's snoozing on the rail of the bridge, its ringed tail curled around its compact body. When I pass by, the cat lifts its head and looks at me with its shiny button eyes, uttering a soft 'mew'. I pause and give it a sideways glare, narrowing my eyes dangerously.

"I'm on to you."

It just blinks at me innocently for another moment, then lays its head down and goes back to sleep. I hate remlits.

When I near the Bazaar, a new signpost by the main entrance catches my eye. I approach it warily. Somehow, I already know I'm not going to like what I'm about to see. Once I'm close enough, I read the text etched into the wood.**  
**

**The bazaar closes at sundown and reopens at dawn.**

**For urgent dealings after hours, please visit the merchant with whom you have business at home.**  
**-Bazaar Peddler Association**

Wh...what _is_ this?! I didn't agree to this! 'Association'?! I'd sooner throw myself below the cloud barrier before I'd willingly join an association with these people. But that's beside the point. No one visits me at my house at night unless they want to sell me some treasure! My house is my sanctuary, or as close to one as I'm going to get. For once I get to be the difficult customer. People have to impress _me_ or I keep my money and send them packing. My shop and my home are two different worlds that must be kept apart. If this world—the bazaar world—comes in contact with that one, everything will explode. The worlds can't collide!

I heave a disgruntled sigh. As if I need another bothersome thing weighing down on my conscience. I can't deal with this right now. I have to go set up. I leave the noticeboard behind and enter into the vibrant, overly-stimulating atmosphere of the bazaar. Wouldn't you know it, the village idiot got someone to hack off that ugly ponytail of his. Good for him. I look past the restaurant to see my fellow first-year Knight Academy dropout already at work inside the scrap shop. Gondo is the best kind of co-worker. The kind who minds his own business. Usually, he's off in his own little world over here, too engrossed in his work to bother anybody else. At the same time, there's one tiny thing I can't seem to overlook. The fact that Gondo is nothing but a big mooch, riding on what little success I've managed to procure. For the most part, he just upgrades and repairs the gear I sell. His business never would have made it if I hadn't paved the way for him first.

Preoccupied with his repair work, Gondo doesn't notice me approaching until I'm standing right in front of him. "Hey little buddy!" he exclaims, smearing some saw dust off his mask. "Long time no see!"**  
**

"Hey, Gondo..." I greet him with a smile. Not wanting to waste any more time, I cut straight to the chase. "You wouldn't happen to have any blue feathers, would you?" I ask. "If you're willing to trade me a few, I'll pay you in rupees or other treasure. Whichever you would prefer."

"Blue feathers?" he says, scratching his head. "Nah, I don't have any of those. I used them all up trying to get Scrapper back in working condition. No luck, obviously..." He frowns, motioning to the rusty old robot disassembled on his back table. "You could always try asking the fortuneteller over there," he suggests with a light shrug. "I know he's kind of goofy looking, but when it comes to finding things, he's usually right on the money!"

I roll my eyes. "Yeah, yeah. I don't care what the guy's track record is, I'm still convinced it's a sham," I say in a hushed voice, very aware that the fortuneteller in question is directly across the room. Ogling us. "Maybe one day when I'm floundering in debt and my life depends on it."

A deep laugh bursts from Gondo's lips. "Little buddy, you crack me up sometimes!"

He thinks I'm joking. I'm not.

I say a quick goodbye to Gondo and start making opening preparations, all the while stewing over my next course of action. I guess I could go hunt around for blue feathers, but they're not exactly easy to come by. There aren't all that many birds that have just the right pigmentation, and they are far more likely to shed their feathers over open air than over land. Ugh, why must my goals be so elusive? Before long, my favorite couple arrives with the screeching devil's child. It's strange, but I think I'm actually starting to get used to the tantrums. Not that that makes them any less aggravating.

"I was looking for you," says a low, gravelly voice. I look in the direction of the voice to see a short old man limping up to my counter.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I said I was looking for you last night!" he croaks impatiently. "I wanted to buy new wallet but you weren't at home!"

Buy a wallet from me? At _home? _Just then, I put two and two together. The new signpost outside the bazaar. The mysterious visitors at my home last night. The old man stares at me stone-faced, silently demanding an explanation.

"Um...I'm sorry you couldn't reach me, sir, but I don't actually sell anything after closing time."

"What?" he exclaims. "But your sign out there says you do! Urgent dealings, visit at home."

I exhale, putting my hands up defensively. "Look, I don't know posted that notice, but it's a mistake. My shop doesn't re-open for business at my house."**  
**

"Is that so?" he says, squinting at me. "Well then, you'd better investigate and get things straightened out!"**  
**

My jaw tightens in annoyance. "I assure you, I'm working on it," I say with a pleasant smile. "In the mean time, you're welcome to buy a new wallet now if you like."

He lets out an exasperated sigh, shaking his head at the floor. "That's alright. I bought one from Beedle earlier this morning."

Oh, of_ course_ he did. Probably for three times the price, too. Oh well. His loss.

"Are you sure you don't sell anything at night?" the old man asks, scratching at his thinning hair. "Because I could have sworn you ran a nighttime business or somethin'."

What does he mean, 'am I sure'?! I think I'd know how I run my own life! "Yes, I do, but I don't sell anything at night," I clarify. "All my wares and materials and the like stay here at the bazaar. Night is when I do my buying, see. I buy treasure people find."******  
**

"...Ah," he mumbles after a moment. It all seems to finally be dawning on him. ******  
**

"Yes. I'm sorry for the confusion," I apologize. Even though it's not my fault.

"Uh huh," he nods. He doesn't seem totally in there. Makes me wonder if he's hard of hearing. "Well, I guess I'll have to take advantage of this _night_ business of yours sometime, then," he says, drawing out the word 'night.' Yeesh. When he says it that way, he makes it sound so shady. "I don't make as much money as I used to, bein' retired and all, but it's so nice to sit at the cafe all day long and chat with the locals. I've heard some pretty tall tales in my time!"

I give him a polite nod, not feeling particularly interested in these 'tall tales' of his. He gives me a funny look, scrutinizing me.

"You don't know who I am, do you?"

"Um…no?" I say, furrowing my brow. "I don't think so. Should I?"

"Really? You don't remember me?"

I study his features. Tiny eyes, long face, deep wrinkles running from his nose to the corners of his shriveled mouth. I suppose he looks vaguely familiar, but I can't recall when or where I saw him. "No, sir," I admit. "Hundreds of faces pass through here each day, so sometimes it's hard to remember." Unless it's an attractive woman. Or a person with some kind of ugly deformity.

The old man gapes at me like I have two heads. "But we ate breakfast together the other day!"

"Oh!" _That_ guy. I guess it is him. I didn't recognize him without the doo rag. "Now I remember you."

"What's my name?" he asks, crossing his arms.

I cringe. If I didn't remember his face, there is no way I am going to remember his name. "I'm sorry, sir. I'm drawing a blank."

He stares at me with a deadpan look on his face for an uncomfortably long moment. Awkward.

"It's Croo," he says flatly. "I'm going to ask you again next time, so you'd better remember it."

"Ah...huh." I'm just hoping there won't be a next time. Wait a minute. This guy Croo...he's telling me he spent the whole entire day sitting at the bar. Twenty feet away from me. And he waited until I went home to come buy something?

_What is going on?!_ _  
_

"Anywho," he says, leaning forward to rest his arms on the counter, "I heard a juicy piece of gossip from the rescue knights this morning."

Oh, wonderful. Just what I need, more juicy gossip. Why me? Doesn't this guy have any old man friends he can talk to? Can't he see I'm busy? Honestly, I must have missed at least half a dozen prospective customers while he was wasting my time. I nod to appease him as he rambles on, but tune him out, glancing over his head at the doorway every so often. Speaking of ugly deformities...here come dumb and dumber. I haven't yet decided which one is dumber. The human cotton swab or the little troll? I keep one wary eye on the entrance, half-expecting that ginger oaf they always tag along with to come bounding in after them, but he doesn't show. Guess it's just these two bozos today. The taller of the two—not even kidding—resembles a used cue tip, with his long, skinny neck and his choppy yellow bangs bleeding into his eyes. The shorter one is a portly fellow with blunt features and a pointed nose that's usually wrinkled up in disdain. He kind of reminds me of the freaky little lawn gnome my mother used to keep at our front door. Before I chucked it off the edge of Skyloft. Their nuisance has practically become routine. They get too hot or too cold, depending on what time of year it is. They come in here and loiter around annoyingly in the open space between my shop and the door. They block the entrance. They get in my paying customers' way. Sometimes Cue Tip crawls around on the filthy floor looking for bugs. Sometimes Shortie buckles down and gives Ginger a shoulder rub, which makes me think he might be...a masseuse.**  
**

Hey, where did Croo Rag go? I guess he realized I wasn't listening to him anymore and slunk off to go annoy somebody else. Oh well, not my problem. I'm working for crying out loud! He's not supposed to be bothering me unless he's shopping. But now just my luck, I've got a new batch of idiots to tolerate. The shorter one is just standing around whining about losing the Wing Ceremony to his friend, who only appears to be half listening. He's busy crawling around on his hands and knees, looking for bugs. It's actually kind of insulting. If he were more astute, he might realize the roaches are making their nests on _Bertie's_ side, not mine! I groan inwardly as a woman walks through the entrance way and nearly trips over him. As if there isn't already enough scum around here to deter customers from visiting my shop. Why doesn't this so-called "Bazaar Peddler's Association" implement something useful for once? Like a "No Loitering" policy? Hm...maybe I should consider making another sign. As I'm contemplating whether to make it now or later, Shortie wanders over and plops his rear end down on my counter. Now_ that_ is crossing the line.

"Excuse me," I interrupt in the politest tone I can muster. He just keep on yammering to his friend. I guess he didn't hear me. "Excuse me!" I say a little louder, giving him a light tap on the shoulder. He twists around at the waist and gives me a grumpy look that just screams,_ what do you want? _

I meet his scowl with a toothy smile. "Can I help you?"

"Nah, I'm good," he grunts, turning back around. My happy face instantly dissipates. Can't this kid take a hint? What part of 'can I help you' doesn't he understand? Obviously, that was a gentle way of saying, 'get your butt off my counter, you little troll!' but I guess that was lost on him. Being the stubborn jerk that I am, I hover close behind him and invade his personal space, trying to awkward him off the counter. I eye him contemptuously, boring two holes into the back of his scruffy blue head, but he seems immune to my presence. Suddenly, he turns to face me again. I instantly perk up.

"Actually, can I borrow a quill?"

For a moment, I just return his dull stare. Then I begrudgingly go back into the storeroom and get one for him. He mutters a dull "thanks" and takes a crumpled up piece of paper out of his pocket. He spreads it across the counter, twisting his upper body into an awkward position to write on it. An awful moan emanates from his mouth. "Can I get a clipboard too?"

What am I, his personal servant? I'm a salesman, not some slave stationed here to attend to the whims of every lowlife who wanders in and mistakes my counter for a park bench. Despite my irritation, I fetch it for him, since he is technically my customer. Even though he's just _loitering_. He snatches the clipboard and begins scrawling some nonsense chicken scratch on his paper, crossing and blotting out words as he goes.**  
**

"Here, Strich!" he says after a few minutes, slapping the piece of paper face down on the counter. "Tell me what you think. Uh, whenever you're done down there." He swings his stubby legs over the counter and hops down on the inside of my shop. Then to my complete and utter surprise, he starts browsing my gear. Am I dreaming? Is he actually thinking about buying something?

After a little while, he pauses by the bombs. "Maybe we should buy Groose a present," he says, picking one up and fidgeting around with it. "He's been really down in the dumps lately."

"Ehh..." the taller of the two climbs up off the floor, dusting off his knees. "I think the last thing Groose needs right now is more bombs."

I shoot him a withering look. Gee, thanks kid. Thanks a lot. Thanks for the input _I really appreciate it._ A dark object flickers in the corner of my vision. I turn my attention back to Shortie to see him tossing the bomb up in the air absentmindedly. With each successive toss, I can feel my patience slipping.

"Ahaha...um, friend?" I snatch the bomb out of the air and set it firmly back on the counter. "Not a volley ball."

He gives me another blank stare. With a little "Humph", he spins around and struts over to the iron shield display. He peers at his reflection on the shiny metal surface and starts fixing his hair. Like that's doing anything for him.

"Do you think Karane likes me?" he wonders aloud. For a moment I'm confused, then I realize he's speaking to his friend.

"Yes, I already told you. I think you should go for it," Cue Tip answers from the other end of the shop. He picks up the piece of paper Shortie left on the counter. "Cawlin...you've been working on this letter for six days and you've only written four sentences?"

"Y-yeah!" Shortie bursts out, whipping around. "So?"

Cue Tip rubs the back of his head, squinting at the letter. "I dunno, it just seems a little..." he trails off and makes a sour face.

"Fine, don't read it then!" Shortie dashes over and snatches the letter out of his hand, going red in the cheeks. "Humph!"

"If you say so," Cue Tip sniffles, wiping a finger under his blobbish nose. "I'm going to go check if they have any new potions." He takes a step toward the potion shop, but then halts and whispers creepily over his shoulder, "I'll 'bee' seeing you."

He slinks across the hallway, leaving Shortie to puzzle over his letter by his lonesome. He stands in the middle of my store with his face buried in the piece of paper, grumbling inaudibly into his double chin.

"Hey salesman, whaddya think?!" he snaps suddenly.

I give him my full attention. He clears his throat and begins reading the letter aloud.

"Greetings. My love for you is wider than the horizon and deeper than the clouds, for you are more radiant than the morning sun, and more breathtaking to behold than a midnight moon. Wanna go out with me? From your brave knight, Cawlin."

He looks to me for my opinion. Oh, that was rich. My lips crinkle into a taut smirk as a fit of laughter rises in my throat and threatens to break free. I clap a hand over my mouth and pretend to cough, suppressing it, but it's too late. I can tell from the look on his face that he's already onto me.

"You want to know what I think?" I sputter, "—what's your name again?

"Cawlin."

"You know what I think, Cawlin?" I grin, placing a hand on his shoulder in an attempt to get him to loosen up. It's not working. "I think you're asking the wrong man. I'm afraid I am simply not qualified to deal with this type of problem. You see, I'm horribly inept with women." I give a light laugh, shaking my head. "Horrible! You're looking for love advice in all the wrong places, my friend!"

He looks very unamused.

"Why...don't I refer you to my dear friend, Sparrot?" I suggest. At that very moment, the fortuneteller's eyes flick to me. A chill runs up my spine and causes my hair to stand on end. Cautiously, I lean a little closer to Cawlin, lowering my voice to a quiet hiss. "See the good sir over there with the crystal ball?"

"Huh?!" he squints and looks around, scrunching up his nose.

Jeez, how hard is it to get rid of this guy? "Top knot, bulging eyes, blinding yellow robes. Can't miss him"

"Oh," his gaze settles on the frilly purple tent in the middle of the marketplace. "Yeah."

"Well, that's him!" I say, giving him a gentle nudge toward the exit of my shop. "Why don't you go tell him about your dilemma? I'm sure he'll be able to point you in the right direction!"

For a few seconds he just stands there, looking a little doubtful, but then he tentatively plods off toward Sparrot's tent. Finally! Good riddance. The little runt is out of my hair and into someone else's.

When he reaches the tent, Sparrot's big blue eyes light up with pure elation.

"Yesssss!" he gasps, positively wriggling with excitement. "The young man is here! Welcome! I have been waiting!"

I cross my arms and lean back, nodding to myself in approval. I am such a good person. This is probably the first customer this man has had in weeks. Who else would do something like this? Nobody. I allow myself a triumphant smile. Nobody thinks about people like I do. **  
**

"You've got that smirk on your face, yessss…the one that says you want me to see what the future will bring!" Sparrot's high, quavering voice snakes its way into my ears. He begins to slowly wiggle his fingers over his crystal ball. "I can foresee what will befall you, for I am a fortuneteller. Trust my piercing eyes. Listen to my pure and innocent voice. I will do you no harm. Come. Gaze deeply into my eyes and come closer."

Ugh. It's like he's trying to seduce his customers. It's disturbing.

Meanwhile, the potion shop is busy. Cue Tip is sniffing each of Manhands's cauldrons, and now that chubby kid who bought the stamina potion yesterday has just come back. He heads straight on over to Bertie's dirty cauldron, his bottle of green gunk in hand. Bertie is looking quite pale and sickly today, sluggishly mixing a concoction that resembles remlit vomit. His eyes glaze over his customer.******  
**

"...Oh," he exhales. A delayed reaction. He stops stirring and leans heavily against his spoon, using it as a crutch. "You want me to upgrade that potion for you? Did you bring all your ingredients?"

He nods and hands over his stamina potion. Bertie unscrews the bottle and pours it into his cauldron. The green color quickly permeates the rest of Bertie's mixture, causing the liquid to hiss and spit and churn in a violent way that makes it look alive. Like there's some kind of creature thrashing around just under the surface. That kid had better exercise like Beedle if he doesn't want to wake up with feminine curves tomorrow morning.

After the potion simmers for a few minutes, Bertie gives his customer the okay and he starts adding his ingredients to the pot, dropping them in one by one. A grasshopper. A dragonfly. Two gigantic, blue beetles. And that is why Bertie and I will never, ever, be friends.**_  
_**

_"_Fledge?_" _Cue Tip takes one look at the insect soup and goes rigid, his eyes widening in horror. "Wh-what are you doing? _Are those the bugs I traded you?!"_**_  
_**

Fledge and Bertie abruptly turn their heads in his direction, frozen on the spot. "Eh, well, these are the ingredients we use to upgrade our potions...?" Bertie responds softly, twiddling his thumbs. Sounds more like a question than an answer.**_  
_**

Cue Tip starts hyperventilating. He zips over to Bertie and goes off on him, launching into what appears to be a cross between a temper tantrum and a panic attack. The older man recoils. Fledge slowly backs away and retreats to my shop, pretending like he's suddenly very interested in what I have to sell. A part of me wants to roll my eyes at the scene before me and go about my business, but for some reason I can't look away. I think this might be the first time I've witnessed a customer flip out on someone other than me. He's practically got Bertie backed into the corner.

Suddenly, a deranged war cry reverberates across the bazaar. Manhands springs to action and charges the angry customer, brandishing her giant stirring spoon. Cue Tip opens his mouth wide into a silent scream, turns tail, and shoots out the exit. I'd flee too if I saw that coming at me.

"Dear Goddess," breathes Manhands, agitated. "Ya gotta have some more backbone, Bertie!" she points the spoon at her husband. "Don't let these little pipsqueaks intimidate you!"

Bertie's lips part, but no sound comes out. He looks shell shocked. The baby is screaming and kicking again, but nobody seems to notice.

"Aw, Bertie," she chuckles, shaking her head. "Just try to be a little more assertive, mmkay?" She leans over and gives him a sloppy peck on the cheek. _Ick._ I shut my eyes and tear my gaze away, my insides squirming with revulsion. Do they have to do that in public?! Brushing off my disgust, I flit over to my customer and busy myself by talking to him. **  
**

"Hello, friend! You finding everything all right?"

He peers up from the seed satchel he wasn't actually looking at. "Yeah, I'm good," he replies, seeming a bit uneasy at my approach. He casts an anxious glance over at the potion shop.**  
**

"My friend, forgive me for prying, but what on earth just happened over there?" I can't help but ask.

"Oh," he says, turning back to face me. "Strich just really likes bugs, I guess," he gives a light shrug. "Usually he's pretty easygoing, but everyone at the Academy has just been really high strung ever since yesterday…" he trails off, averting his eyes. It's so annoying when people drop little hints like this and then neglect to tell the whole story. Hmph. Well, I'm feeling ornery today, so this kid isn't going to get away with it.

"Yesterday?" I press him.

"Yeah…"

I hold my inquisitive gaze. He caves.

"Um...we were told to keep this on the lowdown so we don't freak anybody out, but I guess the news has been going around anyway, so…"

"Mmm hm," I nod, offering him an encouraging smile. _Just get to the point!_

"Just don't freak out, okay?"

"I'm not going to freak out!"

"Okay," he gulps, fidgeting uncomfortably. "Long story short, this girl Zelda went missing after the Wing Ceremony."

Zelda? Oh of course, the Headmaster's daughter. Anyone who's ever attended the Knight Academy knows her. So she's gone missing. Interesting. Very interesting. I've had my eye on something of that girl's for a long time. Her loftwing. That bird's feathers are a very special shade of deep blue.**  
**

"I don't know all the details," he goes on, "but it sounds like she just went out for a fly and her bird came back without her."

"Really now?" I frown, trying to appear sympathetic. "That's an awful shame."

"Yeah," he agrees sadly.

"So the girl's whereabouts are still unknown. And her poor loftwing is just flying around the sky by itself. Riderless."

"Pretty much."

_Yes._ Everything is falling into place. "Ahh," I sigh. "I sure hope they find her soon."**  
**

"Me too..." He glances at the potion shop again. "Well, it looks like my drink's almost ready...see you." He turns and heads back toward the potion shop. My heartbeat quickens at the prospect of my wonderful luck, and suddenly, I feel an uncharacteristic rush of gratitude toward the fat kid.**  
**

"Ah, hey," I call after him in a hushed voice. He turns halfway around and meets my gaze. "Don't drink that potion too fast."

"Huh?" he tilts his head to one side, his expression confused. Why?"

I let my smirk crease my lips for just a moment. "Just take my word for it."


	7. Blue Feathers

**A/N:** I'm back! Thanks for being patient. Long story short, last month of school sucked. I'm sure you can all relate. Unfortunately, I also suffered through a couple weeks of writer's block afterwards so I had some trouble jumping right back into this. But now that I've had some time to rest my tired brain, drink coffee that doesn't taste like metal, and get back to a point where everything I write isn't a jumbled mess, it's all good! Here's the long overdue chapter 7.

-o-o-o-o-o-

**Chapter 7: Blue Feathers**

-o-o-o-o-o-

I jog up the bridge that connects the main island to the Isle of the Goddess, scouring the skies for a speck of dark blue. I was a little hesitant to close up my shop so early, but I'll need good couple hours of daylight to find that bird. And after weighing the outcomes, I decided this is a chance I simply can't let pass me by. What can I say? I'm an opportunist.**  
**

I make it up the hill and pass through the marble gate into the statue courtyard. The Isle of the Goddess is a popular resting place for loftwings, so if that girl's bird is around, there's a good chance it will be here. I sweep my gaze over the courtyard. Several loftwings are roosting among the white pillars, standing on one foot with their heads tucked into their shoulders, but none of them are hers. I put up a hand to shield my eyes from the sun and look up above the statue. More different colored birds are drifting in lazy circles above the Goddess's head; grey, gold, brown, dark green, pale blue. Not the right blue. Just then, I spot the bird I'm looking for very high up. It's just hanging in the air like a kite, so high that it appears tiny in comparison to the lower-flying birds. I keep an eye on its silhouette for a little while, pacing along the base of the statue. Before long, it breaks away from the rest of the group and soars northward.

I start for the pier branching off from the courtyard, sensing Wingy nearby; that unmistakeable air of indifference. But then I notice a bundle of green feathers snoozing behind the statue.**  
**

"Wingy!"

Without lifting her head, she opens one yellow eye and fixes me in her fierce gaze. I feel a flash of annoyance that isn't mine.

I raise an eyebrow. "Wingy. We have important work to do," I say sternly, crossing my arms.

For a few more seconds she just stares at me, like she thinks I might change my mind if she's stubborn enough. When it's obvious I'm not going to cave, she fluffs her feathers and takes an unhurried stretch. In a few wing flaps, she quickly closes the distance between us and crouches beside me.

"Follow that blue bird," I tell her, securing myself on her back. "Yah!"

Wingy takes off after the blue loftwing. It got a head start, but we can still catch up. A strong headwind whips around us, quickly turning my ears cold. It's hindering Wingy's flying a little bit, but she adjusts and stays her course, pursuing the other bird through a string of floating boulders.

Out of nowhere, a large projectile comes flying straight at my head. I let out a surprised yell and duck to avoid it, throwing myself flat against Wingy's back. Staying low, I climb back up to her shoulders and scan the floating rocks up ahead. I quickly locate the assailant: an enormous, bright pink squid. It's suctioned to the side of a boulder, its bloated head sagging over a pair of glowing green eyes. An alarming sucking noise reaches my ears. It's preparing another shot.

The octorok's body contracts. I yank Wingy's belt to the right and she veers out of the way, banking at a sharp angle. I let out a curse as a pellet the size of my head hurtles past. Without having to be told, Wingy levels out and beats her wings in succession to get out of range of the octorok's pellets. I twist around and keep a cautious eye on the creature without loosening my grip on the belt. It spits another pellet after us, but it falls short and plummets below the clouds.

Sheesh. Not even a mile outside Skyloft and I'm having to deal with octoroks? Those good-for-nothing knights aren't doing their jobs. One of their duties is to shoot the nasty things down before they can start reproducing and spreading their havoc. Keese? No sweat. Remlits? Usually not a problem unless you're an idiot who walks around in the middle of the night. But octoroks can do major damage if left unchecked. A couple years ago, the knights let things go and things got _real_ interesting. An entire colony of octos swarmed Skyloft, slithering rampant through the streets and shooting at every person in sight. The entire town was in chaos. People barricaded themselves inside their houses. The knights were going crazy trying to exterminate all the pests, lining up at my shop to replace broken shield after broken shield. _Lining up._ It was great! Even civilians were rushing to buy my shields. I made so much money that week...

Never mind. They can let the octoroks breed up a storm for all I care.

Now that we've caught up a little bit, I have Wingy to angle upward and ascend to the blue bird's height, keeping a firm stance so I don't slide backwards. It's still flying northwest, along the thunderhead. Lovely. The thing is nothing but a giant cyclone nest, conjuring up a never ending onslaught of invisible whirlwinds and updrafts. The absolute last thing I need slowing me down right now. I cling tightly to Wingy's back and give the rotating mass of storm clouds a wide berth, trying to ignore the cold, harsh wind that's battering my face and making my eyes water. I focus on keeping the blue loftwing in sight. It's slipping further and further away, not having a rider to bear, and now Wingy's getting tired from having to fight the wind. Isn't the other bird getting tired too? It has to land eventually.

Finally, the bird begins to descend. I squint ahead and see down toward a rocky landmass with tall, jagged spires jutting up from it. Giant bird nests constructed of straw sit atop some of them. The bird dips toward the rugged island and dips out of view, behind some tall rocks. I take Wingy down on the near side of the island and land out of sight of the blue loftwing. For a few seconds, I sit still and listen. It's so quiet out here, aside from the low, continuous howl of the thunderhead. We must have traveled at least one third its perimeter. Feeling a little paranoid, I look over my shoulder to check if anyone followed me, but all I can see are a few lone loftwings gliding leisurely in the distance. It suddenly strikes me as odd that I didn't pass a single rider on my way here. The skies are unusually traffic-less.**  
**

"Stay close," I say, hopping to ground. I swivel around to Wingy's front to look her the eyes. "Don't you dare ditch me like you did on hippie isle."

She cocks her head to one side with a pluck of mischief.

"Because if I get speared in the neck, you won't be able to live with yourse-_OW!_"

Wingy nudges me in the gut with her bill and bowls me over, sending me sprawling on the ground. I have to smack her away to keep her from assaulting me.**  
**

"Hold on! Just _h__old on! _Yeesh, so demanding," I grumble, struggling to my feet. I reach into my apron and take out one of the bird treats I bought earlier today. As soon as she sees the treat, Wingy hops backwards and gives an impatient rasp, eyeing it hungrily. I throw it above her head and she snaps it up in one gulp. There's no hiding food from Wingy. I gather myself and start inland, growing increasingly more anxious about this confrontation. Loftwings' personalities can be as diverse and unpredictable as people. Some birds are docile and will let strangers approach and even touch them. And some birds are...more like Wingy. Hostile and moody. To this day, she'll still lash out at anyone or anything that's not me.

I pick my away over the craggy landscape and scale a series of short cliffs, moving more quietly when I think I've found the rock formation I saw the bird disappear behind. I sneak around the rocks and come upon the blue bird; it's facing away from me, busily tearing away at something. It has a long tail, which means it's a male. A good sign, since females tend to become territorial during nesting season. I would know. Still, that doesn't guarantee my safety. All loftwings are equipped with the tools of a predator: broad bills with sharp hooks on the ends, giant talons that taper to dangerous points. Thank goodness they don't see us as prey. They could start a rebellion and kill all of us if they wanted. Suddenly, I become very aware of my heart palpitating in my chest. And here I am, an idiot armed with nothing but a pair of scissors.

I swallow my nerves and inch out of my hiding place, moving toward the loftwing one tiny step at a time. Unaware of my presence, the bird lifts one foot and scrapes at his face, trying to rid himself of a tuft of dirty black feathers stuck in his bill. Upon closer inspection I see he's caught a fat little black bird—a guay. Which he's decapitated. A disembodied head lies a little ways off, and bloody entrails are strewn across the rocky ground. My stomach churns at the sight of it. I think I'm going to be sick.

Suddenly, the loftwing hears my footsteps and snaps his head in my direction. I freeze on the spot. Keeping his sharp eyes locked on me, he slowly places a protective foot over the half-eaten guay. Like I came here to steal that filthy thing. I creep a little bit closer, making no sudden movements. He remains motionless, watching me very carefully. This so nerve wracking. Part of me wants to give up and run the other way, but I didn't come all this way for nothing. And I certainly didn't come unprepared.

I slowly remove two large handfuls of the special treats I bought. The loftwing immediately perks up with interest, his stature becoming quite a bit friendlier. These aren't just any old treats. Apparently they're made of dried and compressed octorok flesh, which is absolutely disgusting, but to loftwings, a rare delicacy. Better than eating guay, anyway. How good can a dirty little bird that tries to defecate on everything that moves taste? In a carefully calculated toss, I scatter the treats near the bird's feet. He steps over the guay carcass, takes a cautious whiff, and begins gobbling them up ravenously. Without a second to lose, I dash the rest of the way up to the bird's side and slip out my scissors. He doesn't pay me any mind, completely preoccupied with the octorok treats. I take a few light snips here and there, avoiding white flight feathers. As far as I know, this isn't illegal. It might be frowned upon, but it's not illegal. Besides, the bird will just lose these next time he molts anyway. It would be a sin to let such beautiful feathers go to waste.

When the bird has eaten most of the food, I throw some more out in front of his head to keep him distracted and go back to clip more feathers, working swiftly and unobtrusively. I stay for as long as I dare, until I've got about twenty-five of them. Satisfied, I empty my apron and get out of there, breaking into a run. That went smoothly. Turns out I was worried for nothing. I don't slow down to catch my breath until Wingy is in sight. Relief washes over me. _I did it. _

I rush the rest of the way to my guardian bird and give her firm a pat on the back, like tagging home base after a long, traumatizing game of hide and seek. She doesn't react to my touch. She is stock still, focused on something out in the sky. I follow her gaze and see three flat, dark shapes against the sky, growing bigger by the second. A knight squad, flying in an arrow formation. I realize with a start that they're coming this way. No way. There's no way they saw that...did they?

Thinking fast, I overturn a large rock lying nearby and pile the blue feathers under it, putting Wingy between myself and the approaching knight squad to block their view. Illegal or no, I'm not taking any chances. I start to replace the rock, but then last second I think to hide the scissors too and I throw them in with the feathers. I secure the rock on top of my treasure, pressing it into the earth. I take a moment to compose myself, breathing a little easier now that the evidence is hidden away.

I climb onto Wingy casually just as the knights arrive. The three gray loftwings simultaneously throw out their wings and drift to a gradual stop, treading the air. Both the knights and their birds wear protective flight headgear that obscures their eyes. The blue-clad knight at the forefront of the group, a thickly built man with a blonde beard, is the first to alight before me. The other two follow soon after and flank him on either side; one, a red-clad woman with a pale complexion and a hooked nose, the other, a tall green knight with a strong jawline and a lopsided smirk that looks strangely familiar. Wingy shies away from them and takes on a guarded attitude, as she often does when there are more than two other birds in the vicinity. I make a last minute decision to play dumb.

"Hello!" I say smoothly, not betraying a single trace of the nervousness that's eating away at me inside. I flash a carefree grin to each of the knights in turn. "Windy day today, isn't it?"

Wingy clacks her bill at them threateningly, completely botching my friendly hello.

The knight in the blue uniform comes forward. "You're under arrest for flying during a flying ban," he says.

"What?!" That's not what I expected at all! "W-what do you mean, there's a ban?" I stumble over my words, my friendly act dissolving. "I heard nothing of the sort!"

"It just went into action this morning," explains the blue knight. "Civilians have been ordered to remain grounded while we investigate some unnatural weather patterns. The other day, a big black tornado ripped a girl off her bird and carried her below the cloud barrier."**  
**

"A tornado?!" my voice cracks. I can scarcely contain my shock. Tornado? A tornado?! _That's_ how that girl went missing?!

"Think cyclone, only ten times bigger and ten times more dangerous," the female knight interjects. Gee, thanks for the enlightening info, lady.

"I...I know what a tornado is!" I sputter, a little too forcefully. I regain my composure. "Look, I knew nothing. I heard nothing. Nobody mentioned a tornado or a flying ban or any of that! All I did was go out for some fresh air, blissfully unaware that conditions were unsafe, and now you're going to arrest me? An innocent, ill-informed civilian?"

"Well, yes," replies the blue knight, "you still broke the law."

I snort in disbelief. "Come, now. Do you think if I knew there was a flying ban, I would purposely try to pull a fast one? Certainly not with knights as keen-eyed and vigilant as yourselves on the lookout. No one's that stupid!"

The knight just shakes his head, immune to my flattery. "You're going to have to come with us." He jumps down from his loftwing and says in a commanding voice, "dismount your bird."

In that instant, a rash idea crosses my mind, and for a split second I seriously consider taking off and making a break for it. My hesitation is enough to make the knights suspicious. As if he read my thoughts, the blue knight takes a step forward, outstretching a cautious hand. Wingy tenses at his approach and retracts her neck, like a snake preparing to strike. She's radiating a feeling of, _go ahead, I dare you to stick that hand in my face. _ The other two knights have their birds hover a little closer, making her even more uneasy. She can't handle all these strange birds gaining up on her. With a sinking feeling, I realize I am in no position to refuse. Wingy isn't exactly the fastest flyer, and these are fully trained knights. I don't want to get into any more trouble than I'm already in.**  
**

I slide off Wingy and surrender. As soon as I'm a safe distance from her, the knights confiscate my apron and pat me down, but they find nothing but crumbs. In that moment, all I can think about is how thankful I am that I hid away all the evidence. When they're done, the blue knight takes out a rope and starts tying my wrists together. I wince in discomfort as he pulls it a little too tight. Just then, I hear a soft croon from behind me. I turn to see Wingy fixated on me, wide-eyed with confusion. Sure, now she cares.**  
**

"Go home, Wingy. Go back to sleep," I tell her in a firm voice. The green knight suppresses a snigger. Sometimes I forget how stupid that name sounds until other people are around to hear it. The blue knight guides me over to his loftwing and helps me onto its back, climbing up in front of me afterwards. Wingy stretches her neck to keep me in view, uttering another worried call.**  
**

"Wingy," I warn her again. Of course she doesn't listen.

She takes a large step in my direction, prompting the other two birds to block her way. The next second, there's a pained screech and the green knight's bird flails violently, nearly bucking his rider off. Wingy bristles with anger, a large bunch of gray feathers clamped in her bill. The red knight's bird emits a hoarse croak and lunges at her, spreading its wings in an intimidating flares up, but another threatening squawk from the gray loftwing causes her backs down. She retreats a short distance away and glowers at the other birds from afar.**  
**

"D-discipline your bird, would you?!" the green knight snaps in frustration, trying to calm his loftwing. Was that seriously directed at me? I have to hold back a derisive laugh considering the position I'm in. Discipline my bird. What a joke.******  
**

Sighing,the female knight trods over on her bird, looking to the blue knight questioningly. "Merlin?"

He nods to her. "Take the lead."

The red knight takes off, the bird I'm on following seconds after. I dig my hands into its feathers and hang on for dear life. As we depart the rocky island, I glance over my shoulder at my bird one more time. She's just standing there in the same spot watching me go, looking ridiculous with that clump of gray feathers sticking out of her mouth. Goshdarnit Wingy.

I face front again with a despondent sigh as the blue knight steadies his loftwing in the air, positioning us off the left wing of the leading bird. I gaze down at the sea of clouds below, my mind buzzing with a million stressful thoughts at once. It chills me to the bone knowing there was a tornado out here. You'd think something like that would be newsworthy! I've had it with Skyloft. The place just thrives on pointless drama, but when something bad happens, everyone falls silent and acts all cryptic because they don't want to freak anybody else out or be responsible for throwing the whole town into pandemonium. Nope. They'd rather keep their smelly mouths shut and let everyone figure things out the hard way. It's maddening! What is wrong with our society? _Why can't we all just be honest with each other?!_

Grumbling to myself, I try and fail to shift into a more comfortable position on the gray loftwing's back. Its torso somewhat wider and more muscular than I'm used to, and this rope sure isn't making things easier. This is so inconvenient. Why me? My heart rate speeds up again as the reality of my situation jumps back to the forefront of my mind. I still can't believe I'm being arrested. This can't be happening to me. **  
**

After what seems like the longest flight ever, Skyloft appears on the horizon. But we don't stop there. We fly past it and go on to a much smaller island that really doesn't even look like much of an island at all. More like two smaller islands that used to be one, but started breaking apart at some point. As we circle around it, the first thing that catches my attention is a very large, hollowed-out boulder with a set of metal bars built into it. An empty jail cell, containing nothing but old cot shoved against the far wall. The larger of the two islands is long and narrow, and sports a vine-covered overhang. Underneath the overhang there appears to be some tiny knight headquarters or rest stop, complete with a desk and a couple chairs.

When we finally touch down, Whatshisname hands me off to the other two knights and trudges over to the desk. The green one is still just smirking to himself quietly, as if he's enjoying every moment of this. He's lucky I don't spit on him. The two guide me over to the desk and stand on either side of me as the blue knight takes down my name, address and some other personal information. Once that's all over with, he opens a drawer and starts flipping through what looks like some kind of handbook.**  
**

"Hope you're proud of yourself," the green knight whispers beside me. "We've only had to arrest one other person in the past fifty years!"

My lips part in astoundment. Who does this guy think he is?! He has some nerve. Wait. This guy...I turn my head slightly and glimpse him through my peripheral vision. Now I remember! He's one of those schmucks from knight school! Quill. No wonder he kept smirking at me. I bite back a scathing remark and resort to glaring straight ahead at the wall to quell my anger. I won't give him anything else to use against me. He's just ticked because his ugly gray bird got nicked by a loftwing named _Wingy_. Just then, a familiar poster on the wall behind the desk catches my eye. The yellowed poster bears a sketch of a man's face, a chubby face framed by dark, scraggly hair and twisted into an expression of pure malice. It's him. The escaped convict. That picture always used to scare me when I was younger. When I look at it, I can't help but feel he's glaring straight at me_._ A shiver runs down my spine. Actually, I think it still scares me. The fact that the guy was supposedly guilty of murder isn't helping either. But of course no one knows for sure whether that's true because nobody wanted to _freak anybody out._

"Let's see," blue knight mutters, bringing me back to the present moment. "It says here the penalty for ignoring a flying ban is 1500 rupees."

My breath catches in my throat. I feel like the floor was just ripped out from under me and there's no loftwing to catch me and break my fall. One thousand five hundred...impossible.

"I...don't know if I can afford that right now," I say softly, more to myself than anybody else. **  
**

"Oh," the knight replies in a monotone voice. "That's a shame."

The other two knights grab me by the arms and tug me backwards, rousing me from my shocked stupor. I don't have to look back to know where they're taking me.

"W-wait. This all a big misunderstanding!" I plead desperately as they steer me toward the jail cell. "I didn't know there was a flying ban! _I didn't know!_"

"It would be in your best interest to remain _silent_," the red knight says through gritted teeth. She uses a key to unlock the cell and holds the door open. Quill leads me inside and begins loosening my bonds.

"We will contact your mother and notify her of your arrest," says the red knight, "tomorrow at the earliest. If the ban is lifted by then."

"Is all this really necessary?" I ask fruitlessly.

Quill just strolls out of the cell without a word, a wide smirk planted on his face. The door clangs shut behind him. Schmuck.

With an irritated grumble, I pull the rope the rest of the way off and throw it to the ground in a fit of anger. The knights all gather back at the desk and start arguing over who gets to take the first guard shift. It makes my blood boil. If you didn't feel like standing guard, you shouldn't have thrown me in jail in the first place you bunch of imbeciles! I didn't even do anything wrong! They're practically holding me for ransom out here. I release my aggravation in the form of a sigh. Guess I'm stuck in here for at least a night until they contact my mother.**_  
_**

Oh my God. _My mother._

My mother is going to have a heart attack when she finds out she has to come pick me up from jail. Oh no. _No._ My stomach turns with panic. All my anger, all my frustration and hatred, dissipates and condenses into one instinct: I have to get out out of here.

I look around wildly, searching for some sort of random inspiration. The wanted poster behind the desk grabs my attention again. Surely if that lunkhead could break out of here, so can I. How did he escape again? Oh, right! He tunneled out through the floor. I pace back and forth restlessly, craning my neck to peer at the blue knight sitting behind the desk. I bide my time, waiting for a lapse in his attention span. When he's not looking, I grip the cot with both hands and drag it aside with all my might. _Curses._ The hole has been plugged up with concrete.

I sink to the floor and slump against the cot, defeated. Darkness is already falling outside. A lonely gust of wind whistles through my cell, causing me to shiver. How did this happen to me? How did I end up in here? In one day, I went from being a respectable businessman to a scumbag. My mother...what will she think? Will she even bother coming for me? And if she does...my chest tightens with dread. No. I don't want to think about it. I'm not ready to face the wrath of Goselle. I just want to go to sleep and put it all out of my mind.

I stand up and fling the moth-eaten blanket off the bed. There's an ambiguous stain on the mattress. On second thought, I think I'll sleep on the ground.

I flop back down in the grass and close my eyes to escape this wretched place for a short while.**  
**

* * *

The night went by too fast.

I spent it falling in and out of a miserable, dreamless half-sleep, dozing for no more than one hour at a time. Each time I managed to nod off, I had hoped I would wake up in my bed to discover this whole ordeal was just some far flung nightmare. But here I am. In broad daylight. In a jail cell.

I rise to my feet with a tired moan, blinking against the morning sun as my vision throbs to black and bleeds back into focus again. It feels like my eyes are on fire. I brush some of the grass stains off my clothes and take a walk around the cell to stretch out my sore joints. While I'm giving myself a neck massage, I catch sight of the red knight on guard outside my cell. I wonder if she has a pretty face. Probably not. They're always ugly when they take off the masks.

And that's when I hear her.

"Where is he?!" shouts a frantic voice from somewhere on the other side of the island. "Where is my boy?!"

My heart nearly leaps out of my chest. Already?! No...no! She can't be here already. I just woke up! I'm not mentally prepared for this! "Where is he?!" I hear again. I glance around my cell self-consciously. Is there a noose in here?

Too late. The next instant, she appears from around corner. She looks extremely frazzled, her face an alarming shade of scarlet, a few fly away hairs sticking out from her head. Her squinty eyes go wide when she sees me.

"_Rupin!_" she gasps, clutching at her heart like she might faint. I groan, burying my face in my hands. Does she have to be so melodramatic?

"Rupin!" she cries again, rushing up to the bars. "W-what happened? Are you all right? Did they hurt you?!"

She...she's not angry? Has she lost her mind or something? "No. No Mom, it's really not that bad," I manage. I meet her gaze reluctantly, my face turning hot from embarrassment. I wonder how much they told her. For a long moment, she just stares at me with her mouth agape, as if she still can't believe what she's seeing. Without warning, she rounds on the female knight.

"Get him out of there," she demands, her expression darkening. "Get him out _right now._"

The knight opens her mouth as if about to protest, thinks better of it and promptly moves to unlock my cell. As soon as the door is open, my mother shoves the knight out of the way, throws her arms around me, and crushes me against her chest. Yep. She's snapped. I go rigid and tolerate her smothering embrace, the stench of her foul perfume overwhelming my senses.

After a hug that seems to last for hours, she finally releases me, a fond look of relief settling on her face. I offer up an awkward smile. This is so surreal. I can't remember the last time she looked at me like this.**  
**

"Uh...ma'am?" The knight speaks up, a little tentatively. "You owe 1500 rupees."

My mother turns toward the knight slowly, her eyes wide and uncomprehending. "...what?"**  
**

"Er," a nervous smile flicks across the knight's face. "There's a fine. 1500 rupees."

She just gapes at the knight, dumfounded. She looks back at me uncertainly, as if she's not so sure her son is worth that much. For a moment, I'm completely convinced she's going to push me back into the cell and ditch me on this miserable little island. But to my surprise, she reaches into her purse and pulls out five gold rupees. She drops them into the knight's hand with an indignant huff.

"Thank you," the knight gives a polite nod.

"What's your name, dear?" my mother asks pleasantly. A little too pleasantly.

"Huh?"

She narrows her eyes, pressing her lips into a very forced smile. "Your name?"

The knight hesitates a moment. "Harriet..."

"Harriet," an ominous pause. "I'll remember that."

Without even a glance in my direction, my mother turns and stomps back the way she came. I exchange a frightened look with the knight and trail along behind her at a...safe distance. The atmosphere is brimming with tension. She's mad. She's really mad. I know I should say something to her. Anything. The silence is becoming more unbearable with each passing moment. My mind races to form some apology, some excuse, but I can't seem to think up anything. Perhaps a grateful, "thanks for bailing me out of jail!"? Ack. No way, that's cringe-worthy. With a sickening feeling, I realize that apologies don't matter. Excuses don't matter. No matter what I say, the fact remains that 1500 rupees are gone. _Wasted._ She has every right to be angry at me right now. My thoughts randomly wander to the feathers hidden under that rock miles away from here, my mind's attempt at comforting myself, probably. At least the feathers are safe. I good as got them. They cost me dearly, but I got them. No. What am I doing? I shake the stray thought away, scolding myself for focusing on such a thing at a time like this.

At that moment, my mother reaches the edge of the cliff and comes to an abrupt stop.

"Rupin..." she begins, her tone low and dangerous. I freeze where I am and brace myself. Here it comes.

"I'm sitting at home, sipping my morning tea and reading my favorite romance novel..._AND THIS IS THE CALL I GET?_" she whirls around, her plump features contorted with rage. _"MY SON'S A DELINQUENT?!"_

I flinch backwards, almost tripping over my feet. She's livid, her pupils two pinpoints of hatred boring into mine. Suddenly, I feel like a little boy again, shrinking before her. All at once, guilt crumbles me.

"I'm sorry!" I burst out, and I cannot bring myself to meet her eyes. "I'm so sorry! I'll pay you back as soon as I can! I promise..." I try to sound sure of myself, but the last part comes out as a pathetic squeak.

"And I expect you to!" she practically snarls. "But that's not all. Don't you see what you've done to me?! Do you have any idea how _humiliating_ this is for me?!"

I bite my lip to keep from cringing. Each of her shrill, raucous words sends a fearful spasm through my body that makes me want to crawl under a rock and never come out again. A gaping silence follows as she glowers at me, waiting for me to _say something,_ but I can offer her little more than a befuddled stare. I don't dare nod, nor shrug, nor say or do anything that could possibly make her more furious. ******  
**

"_The neighbors!_" She shrieks. She throws her arms in the air, the flab on them jiggling. "The neighbors will be asking questions! 'Goselle, where was Rupin last night? Where did you fly off to in a hurry this morning, Goselle?'" a little bout of insane laughter. "What will I do? What will say?! I'll be the laughing stock of Skyloft!"

I goggle at her in amazement._ That's_ what she's most worried about? But...she didn't care about that before! Talk about a 180. I guess that massive price tag they put on me shocked her back into coherence.

'The shame! The humiliation!" she gripes on, clawing at her head as if to tear her hair out. "-And you know I _hate_ flying! Look at me! I'm a wreck!_ An absolute wreck!" _

She stops screaming to catch her breath, trembling with rage. Actually, her hair's just a little messed up, but I'm not about to point that out. I would like to make it home in one piece. Too flustered to berate me any further, she whips out her fan and waves it in front of her face frantically, her breath coming out in quick, unsteady gasps. Once her breathing begins to slow down, she abruptly smacks the fan into her palm and squeezes it until her knuckles turn white, giving me a look of pure acid. If looks could kill, I would be dead.

"This. Never happened," she says quietly, in a sweet voice that is absolutely laced with threats. A scary smile stretches across her face. "From this moment on, we will never speak of this again. Ever. Are we clear?"

I swallow the lump in my throat and give a silent nod, lowering my gaze to my feet.

"Now then," she says, with the slightest suggestion of a hysterical laugh in her voice. "Let's go home."


	8. A Ridiculous Request

-o-o-o-o-o-

**Chapter 8: A Ridiculous Request**

-o-o-o-o-o-

"Hey Gondo! Can I borrow a hatchet?"

After a moment, Gondo breaks his focus and looks up from his work. "Sure thing, little buddy!" he grins, sliding a hatchet out from under his desk and handing it to me. "Just don't cut yourself."

"Thanks! Be back in a flash," I say, a broad smile plastered across my face. Hatchet in hand, I head out the main entrance and sweep my gaze over the surrounding hills. Looks like it's all clear.**  
**

In one fast swipe, I chop down that bothersome sign by the door. It parts from the bottom half of the post and falls to the ground with a satisfying _thud_. Slinging the hatchet over my shoulder, I pick up the fallen sign and start dragging it around the building. To the dumpster. My mother was only too eager to tell me how _so many people_ were inquiring about my whereabouts the night I was locked up in jail. Not having the time nor energy to go on a wild goose around the bazaar looking for the sign's owner_,_ I decided this was the quickest and most efficient to solve that little problem. Besides, I'm 90% sure the potion shop couple is behind this, probably trying to bum a few more rupees at night. They're always concocting up new ways to get on my nerves, whether they mean to or not. Oh well. It doesn't matter anymore. It's gone now.

I toss the sign into the nearest garbage can. **  
**

"Hi Rupin!" a soft voice from behind startles me. I whip around.

"Bertie! Hey," I grin, fidgeting with the hatchet. My first impulse was to hide it behind my back, but I stopped myself. That would look suspicious. "I didn't hear you coming!"

"Sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you," Bertie mutters an apology, scratching his head. His weary eyes pass over the hatchet. "What are you doing back here?"

"Huh? Oh, I was just chopping down some shrubs!" I bluff quickly, keeping my body between his line of sight and the trash can. "It gets so overgrown back here, you know."

"Ah..." an unassuming smile forms on his face. "That's a good idea! I don't think anyone is as diligent as you about keeping this place neat and tidy, Rupin."

Whew. He bought it. He's so gullible. "It's nothing," I give a light chuckle, "just trying to improve everybody's quality of living." Something's off. I didn't hear him coming? Why isn't the little monster screeching its lungs raw? And then I see it. Like an apparition, a pudgy little hand appears over Bertie's shoulder, clasping the missing rattle. _******  
**_

"The baby's rattle!" I exclaim, scarcely believing my eyes. "Where did you find it?!"

The baby brings the clunky toy smashing into the side of Bertie's head. "_Ow!_ Yes," he says, gently pushing the rattle away from his face. "Somehow a bird got a hold of it. Must have picked it up after the baby dropped it somewhere."

So that's where it disappeared to. I'll strangle that bird if I ever get my hands on it.

"I tried to take it back, but the bird snatched it out of my hand and flew away!" he goes on. "Thankfully, a nice young man found the bird's nest and retrieved it for us, so now the baby's happy again. And I can finally get some rest..." Bertie draws a long breath and exhales slowly, as if telling that short tale completely took it out of him. This is so ironic. Here we are, at the scene of the crime, and I've just thrown out another one of Bertie's things. Only now this time he's going to find out.**  
**

"That's wonderful!" I say, trying to stall for time. "And the missus?"

"Ah, the missus," Bertie sighs, shoulders slumping. "She sleeps like a log now. I guess she's grown accustomed to the baby's...episodes."

"Wow. That's amazing."

"Mm hm."

Yep. This conversation just petered out. Bertie looks away awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. "Um...excuse me." He adjusts the sling on his back and limps toward the trashcan I threw the sign in. I have no choice but to step out of his way. I linger nervously, cringing as he stoops over the can and peeks inside.

"Did you throw something away by accident?" I ask suddenly.

"Oh," Bertie lifts his head and turns to face me, smiling thinly. "No. Just checking to see if anyone threw away anything nice. You know what they say...one man's trash is another man's treasure!"

"Ahaha, yep." So long as he doesn't try to sell it to me later.

He utters a self-conscious laugh. "I bet you get that a lot."

"I do."

Another awkward lull. Bertie excuses himself with a mannerly nod and starts leafing through the trashcan again, the upper half of his body disappearing inside. I dally in the area a while longer, sawing at a tall weed, but Bertie picks through the trash for a whole minute without mentioning the sign. Huh. Maybe it wasn't him after all. I toss the weed away and wander off, casting one more glance over my shoulder for good measure. The baby watches me leave through its malformed eyelids, running a long, slobbery tongue over its reclaimed rattle. I sure hope he sanitized that thing. Then again, this is Bertie we're talking about.**  
**

I go back inside and return the hatchet to Gondo. Now there's only one more errand left to run. I head over to the bank stall adjacent to Gondo's. As usual, the girl manning the counter is just staring off into space, looking bored as all get out. She leans on her desk with her chin resting in her hands, a white headscarf tied over her blonde pigtails. For some reason, I always feel inclined to be exceptionally nice to her. Mostly to see if I can get her to make an expression other than a dull stare.

"Hello!" I chirp with extra enthusiasm, flashing her a pleasant smile. "Peatrice, right?"

She turns her head slightly and looks at me as if I'm bothering her. "That's me."

Only took me a year. "I need you to transfer some rupees to my mother's vault."

She passes me a form and a quill in silence. I quickly fill the form out and sign it, designating 500 rupees as the amount. _For now_, I acknowledge begrudgingly. Leaning heavily on one hand, Peatrice slides the form back in front of her and looks it over, her eyes glossing over the paper.

"Five hundred rupees?"

The corner of my mouth twitches. "Yes," I confirm, trying not to let my displeasure show through. "That's correct."

Smoothing back her pigtails, she rises out of her seat and turns to the wall of vaults behind her. She unlocks my and my mother's vaults and begins the dreaded transfer, moving rather sluggishly. Sheesh. If we had a reward for worst customer service...nah, it would go to Manhands.

Finally, she closes both vaults and hands me a receipt. I tip my hat to her. "Have a great day!"

"Thanks," she says flatly, sinking back down into her chair. "I'll just be watching dust settle on my counter."

I give an amused snort. That caught me off guard. Well, at least she's honest. I guess.

I go back to my shop, looking over my receipt in dismay. Thinking about all those wasted rupees makes me sick. I'm going to have to make a lot of sales if I am to make up for such a crippling financial setback. Luckily, I was able to relocate the island where I buried the blue feathers. They were a little dirty from sitting under a rock for a day, but still in good shape. These self-healing shields had better be worth it.**  
**

As I'm taking down my 'lunch break' sign, I notice a woman with short mousy hair striding toward my shop briskly. She's toting a little girl by the hand, looking very preoccupied.

"Where is your father?! This always happens when we go shopping," she mutters, chewing her lip in irritation. She turns and catches my eye. "Would you mind watching my daughter for a few minutes? You're not doing anything."

Before my mind can process what she just asked of me, she runs off.

"Wait—Ma'am!" I yell after her, rushing to the edge of the counter, but she's already gone out the door. "Ma'am!" I call again. She doesn't come back.

Really? _Really?_ 'Not doing anything?!' Has she no respect? Just because Bertie hulls his infant to work every day doesn't mean we're running a babysitting service over here! Releasing a frustrated huff, I lean over the counter and peer down at the child so hastily left in my care. The little girl is cute and almost doll-like in appearance, with a round, impish face and a plume of dark hair shooting out the top of her head. She tilts her head up, giving me a little dimpled smile.

"Hi!" she waves cheerfully, the sleeve of her oversized red shirt slipping down her arm.

"Hi," I say in a light voice, returning her smile. "What's your name?"

"The name's Kukiel! Don't forget it," the little girl says, eyes sparkling. "I'm gonna go play with my special friend today!"

I exhale. Not even a minute and she's already sapping my energy. "And who might that be?" I ask, feigning curiosity.

"Uncle Bats!" she blurts out. She bounces with excitement. "It's going to be sooo much fun!"

She starts prattling on about uncle bats and grabitude crackles. Whatever that's supposed to mean. I am really not good with little kids. I just never know what to say to them when they start spewing nonsense like this. And so I find myself falling into my usual smile and nod routine. "Mm hm...wow! That's nice..."

I glance over at the doorway. Where is her mother?! It's been way longer than a few minutes! Suddenly, a woman appears at the entrance. I am relieved, then immediately disappointed when I realize she's not Kukiel's mom. This woman is a bit taller, with attractive facial features and thick chestnut hair that falls over her shoulders in waves. I recognize her from somewhere; I think she might be one of my mother's lady friends. She hovers in the doorway, looking a little out of it. Like she just wandered in here by accident. Could be the heat. It just keeps getting hotter and hotter out there.

Suddenly, her eyes lock with mine. **  
**

"Hey. I know you," her breezy voice floats across the room. "You're Goselle's baby boy!"

My nose momentarily wrinkles with distaste. _'Baby boy?'_

"What's your name again?" she asks, moseying up to the counter. "Lupin?"

"Um," I hesitate, suddenly feeling a little nervous. "Actually it's...Rupin."******  
**

"Rubin?"

"Rupin."

"Rubin?"

"_Rupin._"

"Oh! Robin!"

I groan internally. I don't bother correcting her again.

"I'm Mallara," she says with a spacey smile. She folds her hand across her chest, inadvertently drawing my attention to her...uh...endowments. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Robin."

My heart pounds in my chest as I try to keep my eyes from roving over her shapely hourglass figure. "Uh...yes! Likewise," I stammer, giving a tiny bow. She just stands there and stares into my eyes with her misty blue ones. A little too long for comfort. I smile at her uneasily.**  
**

"Mind if I take a look around?" she asks.

"Oh! Yes of course!" Ugh. _G__et ahold of yourself, Rupin. _"Let me know if you have any questions."

With a slow nod, she turns and walks around the counter toward the entrance of my shop, her perfume tickling my nose as she passes by. It's not too often good-looking women come to browse my wares. Then again, perhaps she didn't come for the wares.

All of the sudden, I remember Kukiel. She's still standing at the foot of the counter, looking up at me with a pouty expression on her face. For whatever reason. "_Don't. Go anywhere," _I whisper, giving her a warning look. I linger near the edge of the shop_,_ keeping Kukiel within my sight, but I can't seem to stop my eyes from wandering to Mallara. The air is thick with her presence as she mills about my shop, floating from display to display. I'm sneaky about staring, of course, averting my eyes if she so much as turns in my direction, then going back for another look when her back is turned to me. Now that I'm getting a closer look at her, she seems a little rough around the edges. Her hair, though pretty, seems to have lost some of its lustre, and subtle age lines mar her elegant features. And she has patches sewn into her clothes! How cheap. Likely, she's not younger than forty. Yep, she's an old bat. Forget it.******  
**

"Maybe I should get Pipit a present," she wonders aloud, twirling a strand of her hair. "Do you think Pipit would like some deku seeds?"**  
**

How the hell should I know? "Who's Pipit?"

"Oh, silly me, you don't know who Pipit is, do you?" she smiles wistfully. "He's my son."**  
**

Ah. So she's a mother.

How about that.

"Ooooo, how much is this?" She plods over to the old broom leaning against the back wall and picks it up. Seriously?

"I'm sorry ma'am, that's not for sale," I inform her in a patient tone. "That's the store's broom."

"...Oh," she breathes, setting the broom back down. "That's too bad. My Pipit is always telling me to stop paying housekeepers and do some dusting around the house, but I just can't bring myself to dig up the broom," she gives an airy laugh. "I'm starting to think we never even had one."

I can only imagine what this woman's house must look like. "So let me guess," I say, smiling, "the house just keep getting messier."

"Yup! It keeps doing that," she giggles, hovering closer to me. Too close. In my personal space. I stiffen up, unconsciously leaning away from her. "You know Robin, if you ever want to make a few extra rupees, you're always welcome to bring that broom on over to my place and do some sweeping."

Did she just..._wink_ at me?

"Don't worry, my son's on night patrol, so he won't find out." She leans disturbingly close and breathes in my ear, "_it'll be our little secret._"

I flinch backwards. Our little _what? _What?! _What's going on?!_

"Your face is really red, mister!"

That voice. Kukiel! I nearly forgot about her! I touch a hand to my face. She's right. I'm flushing really badly.

"Really red!" she blurts again, "like a tomato!"

I gape at the little girl, mortified. "T-that's because I always look like this!" I save, glancing in Mallara's direction. A nervous laugh escapes my mouth. "My mother's complexion," I add quickly. _Shut your mouth, kid! _

Kukiel puts her hands on her hips, giving me a skeptical look. "You don't have a mommy," she says, like she thinks I'm joshing her.

I just blink at her. "Yes I do. Everyone has a mommy."

"Nuh uh. Old people don't have mommies!"

"Just how old do you think I am?" I question her, raising an eyebrow.

"Mmmmm," she pushes her lower lip out in concentration, looking me up and down. "One hundred."

I just stare at her blankly. I am so done with this. She bursts out laughing.

"Aren't you a cutie," Mallara coos, gazing down at Kukiel fondly. She turns to me. "Is she yours?"

What? No! She looks nothing like me. "No! No," I sputter, still a little jumpy. "Just babysitting."

"Oh. I thought so. I didn't think you looked old enough to have kids." A long, breathy sigh makes its way out of her mouth. "Still so _young._"

An involuntary shudder wracks my body. I give an awkward cough, not quite sure how to respond to that. The way she said that was just _eesh._ Why did that rub me the wrong way? Surely she's not...no, that's silly. It's ridiculous to presume such a thing. I'm just overreacting. Yes, I'm completely overreacting. _Overreacting._

"Hey, my son's been wanting one of those fancy lookin' metal shields," Mallara says, drifting over to shield display. "Do you think Pipit would like a metal shield? "

"A metal shield?!" I perk up instantly, regaining my wits. "Oh yes! I think Pipit would certainly like one of those." I turn on the salesman charm that seemed to have been nonexistent until now. "That splendid iron shield is one of the best products you'll find anywhere, and it sells for a reasonable price—a mere 100 rupees!"

"I'll take it!"

What? No persuasion necessary? Is this really happening? Mallara reaches into her pocket, and gentle clink of money reaches my ears. She slowly outstretches her hand and unfurls her fingers to reveal a single red rupee. My smile evaporates instantly.

"Oh my. Ma'am, you—ahem—you don't have enough rupees to pay for this item!" I recover, brimming with false sweetness. "You mustn't tease me like that!"

"Huh?" she blinks down at the red rupee. "Ooohhh! For some reason I thought I had 200 rupees on me." She gives a ditzy laugh, bopping herself on the head. "Whoopsie!"

"Ahahahahaha!" I slap my knee and burst into fake laughter, pretending like she just made the cutest blunder ever. Like it was no big deal. Like she didn't just dangle _100 rupees_ in front of my face and snatch them away at the last possible instant. This woman is so incompetent! Idiot! Dingdong! Feathers for brains! Completely irresponsible!

"Mom?!"

I turn to see a yellow knight with spiky brown hair. Hey, it's that's kid who...snubbed me for Gondo's repair shop. My features settle into a scowl.

"Oh, hi Pipit!" Mallara waves cheerily, a dopey smile on her face.

"Mom, what are you doing over here?" the knight strides over, eyeing the rupee in her hand. "You were supposed to use that money to buy food, remember?"

"Oh...yeah," she says slowly. "I guess I forgot!"

The knight lets out a disgruntled sigh. "C'mon." He takes her by the shoulders and gently steers her toward the exit of my shop.

"See ya later Robin!" Mallara calls over her shoulder, giving me a flirtatious wave. She lazily plods off in the general direction of the cafe.

"Uh, hey," the knight mutters awkwardly once she's out of earshot. He motions for me to come a little closer, crossing his arms. "She wasn't...bothering you, was she?" he asks, a frown weaving across his face.

"No, no!" I beam. "Not at all." Yes.

"Oh. That's a relief. Sometimes my mother...she...er," his brow creases, as if he's drudging up some unpleasant memory. "Never mind," he shakes his head.

"Hm?"

"Don't worry about it." He glances over his shoulder. I follow his gaze to see Mallara practically lying over Gondo's counter.

"For Goddess sakes. _Mom!_" he shouts, taking off after her. Did that really just happen? What on Earth just happened.

I slump against the counter and deflate, feeling much less anxious now that she's gone. It's then that I realize how sweaty I am. My shirt is practically sticking to me. Ugh, how gross. Wait. Wasn't there something I was supposed to be doing? I scan the immediate area, searching the counters, the potion shop, the entrance. Uh oh.

The little girl is gone.

"Kukiel?"

My eyes widen in alarm. I spin around and see Kukiel's mother walking up to my shop with a tall, middle aged man that must be her husband. Impeccable timing.

"Kukiel?!" she calls again, sounding a little more distressed. She looks straight at me. "Where's Kukiel?"

I cringe, hesitantly shrugging one shoulder.

"You _lost_ Kukiel?!"

I draw back a little. "Sh...she was just there!" I burst out, pointing to an empty spot on the floor. "Not even a minute ago! She must have run off."

"Weren't you paying attention?!" she snaps. "How would you know she just ran off? For all you know someone could have just walked off with her! Do you even care?!"

My temper flares defensively, however irrational. I bite back a scathing retort. _Yeah, well, maybe it's your fault for dumping her on me without my permission in the first place!_

"Whoa, easy there, dear. Let's not point fingers," says Kukiel's father, placing a calm hand on his wife's shoulder. "I'm sure Mr. Salesman is very busy and had customers to attend to."

I ease up a little, grateful that the father's not flipping out on me too. But of course I don't dare openly agree with his sentiments.

"How can you be so lax over this?!" the wife shrills, pulling away from him. "Our daughter is missing, Jak! Missing! I can't take this anymore. First you're nowhere to be found, then when I finally find you, she's gone! It's maddening!" she growls. She turns tail and rushes out the door, screaming, "_Kukiel!_"

The father lets out a long sigh, shaking his head at the floor.

"I'm very sorry, sir," I say in all sincerity, folding my hands together. Somehow his calm demeanor makes me feel more apologetic. "I got a little...distracted. With a customer," I admit, leaving out the finer details. "If there's anything i can do to help—"

"Ehh, don't sweat it son," he says casually, waving a hand. "Happens a couple times a week. The tyke's a little magician! She just disappears in the blink of an eye. One time I lost her for a whole three hours," he glances around cautiously, looking guilty. "Uh...but don't tell her mother I said that."

"Heh," I grunt, relieved that I won't be joining the search party anytime soon. "Well, I wish you luck in finding her."

"Oh, we will," he says, sounding unworried. "She usually comes back on her own. My bet is she'll be back before nightfall!"

I smile uncertainly, hoping for my sake that he's right.**  
**

"Yup," he nods, a fond grin spreading from ear to ear. "She'll be back before nightfall."

-o-o-o-o-o-

**A/N:** This one was a bit of a struggle at first, but I'm satisfied with what I ended up with. It's chapters like these where I doubt my ability to write male perspective, because honestly I don't know what goes through guys' heads when it comes to women! Granted, Rupin's a little prissy (ok, really prissy) so I've been able to get away with a lot. But I still worry sometimes! If anyone ever has any pointers for any reason, don't hesitate to speak up. I'm always open to criticism so long as people aren't rude about it.

Next up: A customer actually buys something! :o Stay tuned.


	9. Little Rainbow

-o-o-o-o-o-

**Chapter 9: Little Rainbow**

-o-o-o-o-o-

I'm never happy.

When there are no customers, I stand around bored out of my mind, itching for them to appear. To come buy my junk and hand me their money. The day just drags when there are no customers. But then once the customers are here, I just want them to go away so I don't have to talk to them and look at their ugly faces. I'm always wavering between two conflicting desires. Always trapped. Never satisfied. Never happy.

Today, though, I find myself scouring the near-vacant bazaar like a starved remlit, longing for a paying customer to come to my shop. I don't know what's going on today. Even the Village Idiot up and left a little while ago. I look right, then left, only to be disappointed again. Gondo seems to be occupied with his robot, but most everybody else looks brain dead. It'd be almost comical if it wasn't so sad; all of us, just sitting around our stalls mindlessly, waiting on nobody. Wasting our lives away in this place. Being here can be so counter productive when there are so few customers. It drives me nuts, thinking about my unfinished shields collecting dust in my shed as I stand around doing nothing, but I've already sacrificed so much time between this week and the last. And what if somebody does show up? Then there goes my reputation and my dependability.

There's a tired gasp from Bertie's direction. I glance up just in time to see yet another sandy hair float down into his cauldron. This happens far too often to be accidental. Sometimes I wonder if it's because Bertie is harboring angry feelings toward anybody in particular, like a chef who spits on somebody's meal. I was on the receiving end of that once.

I shift my gaze to the other end of the potion shop. Strangely enough, Manhands seems to have stopped pretending like I don't exist. She's been looking over here every so often for the past fifteen minutes, like she wants to say something to me. Hmph. Well, I want nothing to do with her. She probably just wants to blab about her new shield potion and stick it to me that she's leeching off my business. Who knows what horrific side effects she's brewing up over there in that vat of pinkish ooze. She tries to get my attention again, but I ignore her, avoiding eye contact. Little does she know, my plans to thwart her are in motion. I will insure that her efforts amount to nothing. A small smirk plays on my face. The sheer anticipation of it gives me the stamina I need to stand here. Now if only I could get some customers. I cast another hopeless glance over the sparsely populated bazaar. Why is this place so dead today?

_"BEEDLE'S HERE! BEEDLE'S HERE!"_

Oh. _That's_ why. In a blur, a filthy little boy goes tearing through the bazaar, screaming at the top of his lungs.

"_Beedle's here!_" he squeals again, giving a skip of glee. "Beedle's Airshop is here!_ Beedle's here and he has new bug nets for sale!_"

The kid wipes his runny nose on his shirt sleeve and bolts out the door. Snot-nosed brat. I've seen him around here before. I think he belongs to one of the cooks who works at the café. I get why she doesn't want the little hellion around her food with those grubby fingers of his, but c'mon. Leashes exist for a reason! Maybe I ought to start selling them. For all the lazy, irresponsible parents who can't be bothered to supervise their children. I bet I could convince Kukiel's mother to spring for one of those. If she didn't hate me.

Suddenly, my ears pick up the sound footsteps at the entrance. I whirl around, my heart leaping in anticipation. Could it be? A customer? Oh _no._ It's that guy. The one with the doo rag. And he's coming over here again. Doesn't this old man have anything better to do? If I were old and retired I wouldn't come within 100 meters of this place.

"Hello again, Rupin," he says slowly, as if he were speaking to a young child. "Remember me?"

"I do now!" Because you bother me all the time.

"What's my name?"

"…"

"It's Croo," he says, nodding his head slightly. I can't place why, but he seems annoyed this time. "You never listen, do you?"

I offer up a smile that's as false as it is good-natured. "You'll have to forgive me, sir. Sometimes it takes me a few tries to remember names."

"Yeah, I'll bet," he crosses his arms. "You weren't listening then and you weren't listening when I told you about the flying ban either! Went and got yourself in trouble with the rescue knights."

My eyes go wide in alarm. "H-how did you—"

"My grandson," he replies instantly, with a subtle glow of pride. "He's a member of Skyloft's premier rescue squad, the one that picked you up. Told me all about your little excursion. Don't know what you were thinking, flying out there in tornado conditions."

"Ahaha, tornado conditions? Hardly," I grind my teeth together, feeling angry all over again. I still can't fathom the ludicrousness of it all. What was even the point? It's not like the knights directly benefit from the money; the fines just go toward public maintenance. Like keeping the loving cemetery from eroding off the edge of Skyloft. So what value was there in arresting me and locking me up like some sort of criminal? Entertainment? Did they do it to relieve their boredom?!

Croo mistakes my silence for an admission of guilt. "See? You weren't listening to me."

I stare at him incredulously. So...what? I'm expected to rely on the local bar curmudgeon to get my news now?

"Don't worry," he drawls, as if reading my thoughts. "I won't tell anybody."

He'd better not. My stomach turns at the thought of that one going around town. Oh, _he'd better not._

"Thank the heavens they found you, too, before something really bad happened," he goes on. "I'm telling you, those knights. They're diligent about their jobs. They're the best of the best!"

I just stare at him in silence. I have nothing to say to that.

"You could have amounted to something too, you know, if you hadn't quit the Academy. A darned shame you didn't stick with it." This man is _really_ trying my patience right now. "I always did say you had potential. Matter of fact, if my Quill hadn't been flying in the same race...I would have bet on you."

What?! Why is he telling me this? That was over seven years ago! Why does he still care? Oh, right. I guess it must have seemed like less time to him, as aged as he is. So this old prune is Quill's Grandfather. No wonder he's so insufferable. That explains why he feels like he knows me so well too; he was one of those awful sideline parents back then, judging me and scrutinizing my every move...

"What's the matter?"

"Huh? Nothing," I reply, suddenly aware that I haven't spoken a word for the past minute. "Nothing's wrong."

"You're annoyed that I didn't buy anything and you don't want to chat."

Why does this guy have to be so perceptive? "No, no. Not at all," an automatic grin stretches across my face. "I just love entertaining company while I'm working," I say, but sarcasm leaks into my voice and kills my friendly act.

He studies me with those emotionless, beady eyes of his. After a few seconds, he sighs. "Well then, I'll give you a tip."

I perk up. A tip? Really? Cupping a hand over his mouth, Croo leans over the counter and mutters under his breath,

"Carry an umbrella when it's raining."

I just stand there, aghast, as he turns and limps away. I could have imagined it, but I think I saw a little smirk on his face. Now that was just mean. I whip around and shoot a seething glare at the back of his head as he exits the bazaar. Get out. Get out and stay out.

As Pruneface is hobbling out the door, who should pass him on his way out but a real customer. One of my regulars, in fact. Mr. Popular, or so he says he is. I don't know, I've never heard my mother gossiping about him. The man's a retired knight in his fifties or so, with a receding hairline that seems to be migrating down the back of his neck and a big fat stomach that can only be the result from far too many nights at the Lumpy Pumpkin. Now normally I don't pay much attention to what other guys are wearing, but the ill-fitting chain mail and pink slippers? Really? What kind of message is this guy trying to send out to the world?

I turn away and keep an eye on him through my peripheral vision. I don't want to look like I'm sizing him up from a distance. Even a seasoned customer might pass me over in a heartbeat if they think I'm stalking them. The customer is like a little squirrel. I mustn't make any sudden movements or I might scare him away. I bide my time, waiting for the opportune moment. He waddles a little closer. His gaze wanders in my direction and—

"Ahaa! Hello, valued customer!" I beam, pretending as if I just noticed him. "Is there anything I can assist you with today, friend? Perhaps you're in need of some ammo? A new quiver?"

He lumbers the rest of the way to my shop, his eyes roving over the counters. ""Hmm..." he mumbles thoughtfully, rubbing his chin. "Now that you mention it, yeah!" He snaps his fingers. "I could use some more ammo for my crossbow. Yep. Just grab me two bundles of those arrows."

He unstraps a large quiver from his back with lays it on the counter, a single arrow clattering inside. I take the arrow in my hands and examine it closely, measuring the shaft with my eyes. It's a little shorter than my standard. "Oh my. I hope I still have this size in stock," I say, furrowing my brow. "I'll just be a minute, sir!"

I hop into the backroom and unlock my supply closet, combing the shelves for the right size arrows. Before long, an incessant tapping reaches my ears. It's my customer; he's over there drumming his fingers against the counter. Ah yes, he's one of those finger tappers. As if they think they make me go faster, by putting such impatience on display. It kind of makes me want to rebel and go slower just to spite them, but I won't do that for fear of tainting my good reputation. No. In fact, I think I'll just work at my normal pace.

My customers don't control me.

After a few minutes of searching, I manage to scrounge up 20 arrows. I carry them back out to the shop and begin carefully loading them into the customer's quiver one by one. He stares at the floor, not letting up on the finger tapping. I try not to let it affect me, but the longer it goes on, the more I can't help but feel my delay in the storeroom was a mark against me. I do believe it's about time I fed his ego.

"That's a nice sword you have there," I compliment him, nodding to the katana sheathed at his hip.

He looks up, a smug look weaving across his face. "It really is, ain't it?" he says, gripping the katana by the hilt and unsheathing it a little bit. The silver of the blade glints in the lamplight. "Just look at the finish on this baby. Would you believe I've had it for thirty years? You know, most knights lose the privilege to carry weapons on em' in public once they step down, but there are perks to being popular."

I just nod. This guy can carry a conversation all by himself once he gets going. A truly amazing feat.

"Pretty slick blade, if I do say so myself!" he boasts, sliding the thin sword back into its sheath. "'Course these days I just use it for sport, but it still works wonders! Slices bamboo like a hot knife through butter! Your arrows, though. They're a darned good thing to have on hand too. Sometimes a man's gotta bring out the long ranged artillery to deal with the pond scum in these parts."

Now my curiosity has been piqued. Just a little. "Pond scum?"

He sighs heavily, leaning on the counter. "I swear, these young varmints. They're gonna kill me..." he mutters, smoothing back what's left of his blonde hair. "It can be a real chore, fendin' off all these lowlife scum that keep crowding my pretty little water lily. Er—that would be my darlin' daughter, in case you didn't realize. I worry about her all the time, what with all these bothersome boys giving her unwanted attention, and I eat when I get stressed. It's awful. I mean, just look at this gut." He pats his round belly, which jiggles rather sickeningly. "Believe it or not, I used to look more like you. Only with muscles."

Oh, rub it in, why don't you. At least I'm not grossly overweight.

"If there's one thing I gleaned from all my years of knighthood, it's to learn from your mistakes," he rambles on. "I was one of them once...hittin' the town every other night and wooin' the ladies like there was no tomorrow, so believe me when I say I know all the tricks of the trade. There's only one thing on those mangy mutts' minds, and let me tell you, I won't stand for it. No siree, not my daughter!" He throws a shifty glance over each of his shoulders, as if said mutts might pop up from behind the potion shop counter at any moment.

"My body may not be what it used to be, but my mind's still sharp as a tack. Those dirty rotten nest robbers would have to be mighty foolish to mess with me. I always tell my daughter those six locks on the door are there for a reason, but it ain't to protect her. Oh, no. They're to protect _them."_

I look at his face, and for a second I think he's dead serious. But then he cracks a smile.

"Heh heh heh! You thought I was serious for a second there, didn't you?"

"Heh. For a second," I admit.

He gives a hearty chuckle. "Well, I was."

I bite my lip. He's joking...right? Oh, who am I kidding. Of course he is. If someone had actually gotten shot with one of my arrows, I would have been sued for it by now.

"Not that I can blame the rascals," he says, smirking. "My little girl's sweeter than sugar and as irresistible as a cool glass of lemonade on a hot day!"

That's great. I don't care. "Who's your daughter?" I humor him, trying to squeeze the last of his arrows into the quiver.

His jaw drops in disbelief, like I couldn't possibly not know who his daughter is. "Are you pullin' my leg, son? Why, she's Peatrice! The shinin' star of the Item Check."

Ah, Miss Gloomy. I glance over at the bank to see her leaning against her desk, looking rather dismal. Peatrice is one of the newer shopkeepers in the bazaar. She's only been running the Item Check for a year or so, ever since that senile old remlit man dropped dead. Nester, I think his name was. Crackpot used to open up all the unused vaults and let his remlits play in them, and boy did that cause a stink. I couldn't go near the left wall of my shop without getting a whiff of cat litter. Of course, once old Nester kicked the bucket, his newly orphaned pets weren't so willing to let go. So they made regular visits to the graveyard he was buried in. The one out back my house. At night. What fun that was.

"Get a look, salesman?"

My customer's voice jars me out of my thoughts, the humor gone from his tone. I turn to find him looming over me dangerously.

"You'd better not be eyein' up my little rainbow on the job."

I gape at him. "No sir, I wasn't—I mean—I wouldn't think of it!" I laugh nervously.

He peers at me with suspicious eyes, his features hardening slightly. "Good," he grunts after a long pause. "But listen up and listen hard, pal. You'd better keep your eyes to yourself, if you know what I mean. And don't go gettin' any weird ideas either. My cupcake doesn't need any more unwanted admirers."

I nod slowly, at a loss for words. What is with this guy? I wasn't thinking about anything remotely dirty! Just because I looked at her once? When he _brought her up in conversation? _Tell that to Sparrot! He's the one who's been ogling your little...rainbow.

"My goodness gracious, I don't know what I'd do if I found a feller with my little honey baby," he worries, more to himself than to me. "I mean, I guess that day has to come eventually, but it's not easy lettin' go...she's been the sole apple of my eye ever since...her mother passed away..." he trails off and stares into space, a deep crease appearing on his forehead.

"Oh. I'm...very sorry to hear that," I respond, forcing a frown. Good grief. I hate when people I barely know bring up depressing subjects out of nowhere and I have to put on a sympathetic face. It takes so much energy. "Well, here are your arrows!" I trill, passing the customer his restocked quiver. "Thank you for your loyal and continued patronage!"

He grabs the quiver and hands me 40 rupees in exchange. I take a moment to appreciate the weight of them in my hands them before putting them away.

"Thanks a lot, pal," he grunts. He slings the quiver over his shoulder. "Heh. Those varmints won't even know what hit em'."

I cringe at his words. He's still joking. Right?

"Sir?" I say as delicately as possible, wringing my hands together. "Do be careful not to actually shoot people."

He gives me a flat look, saying nothing.

I buffer with a toothy smile. "I mean, it's not that I doubt your aim! Not at all, friend! It's just—if by some chance a tiny accident were to occur, I can't be liable if—"

He throws his head back and laughs. "Don't you worry your little head over it, boy," a sly smile creases his lips. "Good save, by the way."

I utter another nervous laugh, hunching slightly. That response wasn't exactly reassuring. I think there was something else I wanted to tell him, but now his attention has drifted elsewhere, to the Item Check.

"Ohh, she's just so gosh darned cute! I'm gonna go surprise her," he says, his eyes glinting with excitement. He starts sauntering off down the marketplace, and suddenly I remember what it was I wanted to say. I forgot to remind him of my no refunds policy.

"Oh! And sir?"

He stops in his tracks and turns to face me. The irritated look on his face is enough to make me chicken out.

"Um," I swallow, shifting under his gaze. "The customer is always right!"

He cocks an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

I nod vigorously, smiling. He just rolls his eyes and continues on his way. Once he's gone, I drift forward and slouch against the counter, finally letting my guard down. Unconsciously, my eyes follow him to the Item Check, where he's creeping up on an unsuspecting Peatrice.

"Hey sunshine!" his loud, boisterous voice penetrates the air. Peatrice snaps her head up in surprise.

"Dad?!" she exclaims. She glances around self-consciously and sinks into her chair. "...not in public."

He just laughs, unaffected by her attitude. "Who are you kiddin', Sweet Pea? This place is deader than the keese I shot last night!" he practically announces to the whole bazaar. What a braggart. He leans an elbow on her desk. "You know, you're lookin' awfully pretty today."

Peatrice heaves a sigh, hiding her face behind her hands. "I look the same as I always do, dad."

"And you always look pretty."

She lets her fingers slide down her face, blushing slightly. And then I see something that I've never seen before.

A little smile.

"Hey uh, Rupin?"

I turn my gaze away from the Item Check, my eyes falling upon Manhands. I must look really irritated right now, because she winces a little bit.

"Er...look," she continues after a moment, "I've been thinking long and hard about last week, and I just wanted to say...I'm sorry."

My mouth falls open in surprise. Sorry? Manhands is _sorry?_ Is she insane?

"I didn't mean to get so heated with you. It's just, you know...it was a rough week. I just had a baby. I was hardly getting any sleep..." she rattles off a couple more excuses. "I guess I just snapped and took out all my frustration on you. But I don't think we should let that little spat come between us!" she folds her hands behind her back and tips her head, looking a little guilty. "So no hard feelings?"

I hesitate. She stares at me expectantly.

"...no. No hard feelings. I'm sorry too." Why did I just say that?! I didn't do anything wrong! I have nothing to apologize for!

A wide, toad-like grin stretches across her face. "That's a relief! I just couldn't stand the silence anymore."

What have I done.

"So Rupee, get a load of this," she leans forward and gets that old look on her face. That look when she knows something I don't and she's just so pleased that she gets to be the one to spill the big news to me. "I heard a ghost is haunting the Knight Academy restroom!"

"Ah. Wow. I..." don't give a rat's crap. "That's fascinating."

"I know, right?!" she guffaws. "Apparently, people have been hearing weird moaning noises coming from there at night. Some kid went to check it out and thought he saw a white hand coming out of the toilet! Can you believe that?!"

And then she talks. About the toilet ghost, about the weather, about how her shield repairing potion is almost ready. About her baby's ailments, and how her back has been bothering her, and how annoyed she was that Bertie put tomatoes on her sandwich when she specifically told him not to. And as I'm listening to all this, all I can do is ask myself: _why?_ Why oh why did she have to go and apologize? I liked having a good reason to hate her. I liked being on the outs! _I don't want back in!_

I hold back an exasperated groan. It's just blathering. A wall of mindless blathering. There's no break where I can excuse myself with a gentle 'alright then' and slip into the backroom to pretend I'm busy. It just never stops! And if I snub her now, then _I'll_ be the bad guy again. And so I remain glued to my spot and force myself to appear attentive, offering a question here, a comment there. Suffering quietly. I don't care if we're supposedly on good terms now. This doesn't change my plans to show her up one bit.

The rest of the day whittles by with very little business, the hours seeming to stretch more than ever now that Manhands is talking to me again. Every so often, a window shopper stops by my stall to browse my gear, but I don't make any significant sales. What an awful day. What an awful, miserable, unproductive day. I give into temptation and start closing up my shop half an hour early. Manhands looks a little put off by my early desertion, but luckily she doesn't press me on the matter. She heads home soon after, leaving the beaten down Bertie to deal the last of the potion shop's cleanup duties as usual.

As I'm gathering up the last of my wares, I happen to notice Peatrice passing by my stall on her way out. She looks exhausted; she's dragging her feet, and she has dark circles under her eyes. I imagine I must not look so different from her by now.

"Have a good night!" I call out to her, and somehow, in spite of my weariness, I find it within me to smile.

She just stares straight ahead and trudges out the door without even acknowledging my presence. Letting out an annoyed sigh, I hoist a sack of bombs over my shoulder and lug it into the backroom. Maybe she didn't hear me. Or she just didn't realize I was talking to her...

Wait a minute.

Why am I making excuses for this girl?


End file.
